Irish (Republic) accent - an excerpt from Angela's Ashes.
Middle Aged (35-54)
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
When I look back on my childhood, I wonder how we survived it all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood. The happy childhood is hardly worth your while worse than the ordinary, miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood. People everywhere brag and whimper about the wolves of the early years, but nothing can compare with the Irish version. The poverty, the shiftless, loquacious alcoholic father, the pious defeated mother moaning by the fire, pompous priests pulling schoolmasters, the English and the terrible things they did to us for 800 long years. Above all, we were right out in the Atlantic Ocean, greet sheets of rain gathered to do slowly up the river Shannon and settle forever. In Limerick, Doreen dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year's Eve. He created a cacophony of hacking coughs, Bronco rattles, asthmatic wheezes, consumptive croaks. It turned noses into fountains, lungs into bacterial sponges. It provoked cures galore. He's a Qatar. You boiled onions and milk blackened with pepper. For the congested passages, you made a pieced a boiled flower on nettles, wrapped it in Iraq and slapped it sizzling on the chest.