Jacob’s magic just not for me

Blimey, what a kiss to build a dream on. I recently sat in a train in Wales, waiting for Zuma to pack his bags and join his Dubai neighbours.

So, to rid my mind of a depressing subject, I was reminded of our visit to Blarney Castle in Ireland, where I kissed the magic stone (reputed to be Jacob’s pillow).

By going through this ridiculous and uncomfortable exercise, and on your back, nogal, you will become more eloquent. The only thing that immediately befell me was a bout of vertigo. And the thought of my lips touching a spot shared by thousands and thousands of tourists over the years made me nauseous. Ugh.

It’s been a few weeks since the kissing game, and still the promise of power of persuasion eludes me. I tried it on my Heidi a couple of times without success.

In each case she retorted, “You must be kidding, right?” Even my gardener gave me a cold stare when I insisted, with raised voice, he trims the rose bushes. Promising him an extra peanut butter sarmy wouldn’t persuade him.

So, after queuing for hours in rain and wind with 20 busloads of international visitors, climbing 100 steps through narrow and dusty passages, and ultimately reaching the Promised Land, Jacob’s magic still hasn’t rubbed off on me.

Then the question arises: Why do we fall for such hogwash? Tourists included Americans, Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Indians – oh, and some South Africans, like me – all with different religious persuasions (many impartial to biblical characters).

In fact, they tell us, world statesmen, literary giants, and legends of the silver screen have joined the millions of pilgrims climbing the steps to kiss the Blarney Stone and gain the gift of eloquence.

So what makes Jacob and his pillow such a strong drawcard? Do we really believe a piece of rock is able to give us certain powers? Beats me. I reckon the whole idea began in an Irish pub.

“How do we attract tourists to the Emerald Isle to boost the economy?” asks a slurring Paddy. “There’s an empty castle in Blarney,” replies a fellow drunken bar fly. And it worked. The world was persuaded.

Cliff Buchler.