One lucky winner of the midweek Euromillions draw -- could it be YOU?
The winning amount of €625,081 was scooped by somebody in County Galway while a second player in County Louth also struck it lucky, matching five numbers to win the tidy sum of €14,609.
The Galway player purchased their winning Quick Pick ticket on the day of the draw from Eurospar in Carraroe, Co. Galway. Remarkably, this store is no stranger to big wins – it also sold a €7 million Lotto jackpot ticket last November. Pic: Getty Images
Adding to the excitement, a second Irish player in Louth matched five numbers to win a handsome €14,609. Their Quick Pick ticket was bought at Dunnes Stores Dundalk, Ard Easmuinn, Dundalk, Co. Louth.
The winning numbers from last nights draw were – 24, 38, 41, 45, 49 and the Lucky Stars were 1 and 6.
While there was no outright winner of the EuroMillions jackpot worth €96,858,365, in total, over 40,000 players in Ireland won prizes in the EuroMillions and Plus games, including the two winners in Galway and Louth. PIC JULIEN BEHAL PHOTOGRAPHY
Emma Monaghan, spokesperson for the National Lottery said, 'What fantastic news to wake up to – another substantial win for two Irish EuroMillions players! Huge congratulations to our winners in Galway and Louth. We're now urging all of our players to check their EuroMillions tickets very carefully – you could be holding a winning ticket!'
The winners are advised to sign the back of their ticket and to keep it safe. They should make contact with the National Lottery prize claims team on 1800 666 222 or email claims@lottery.ie and arrangements will be made for them to collect their prize in Lottery HQ.
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Irish Post
4 hours ago
- Irish Post
Delivered by lamplight in old rural Donegal
IN the shadow of empire and economic hardship, one Irish childhood spans the transition from thatched cottages to postwar council flats—and all the ghosts in between. James Harvey's memoir Grappling With Ghosts captures the strangeness and struggle of a lost world. Below is an extract from the book... THE world on both sides of the Irish Sea is so utterly changed today from what it was when I entered it eight decades ago, that it's hard to recapture it now. But recreating the strange and remote realities of that world is what I set out to do in the memoir of my childhood, Grappling With Ghosts, published earlier this year. Ireland, just 30 years removed from 700 years of British domination, had scarcely emerged from the 19th century. It remained a 'priest-ridden, God-forsaken race,' in James Joyce's acerbic description. London, meanwhile, shrouded in fog and greasy coal soot was the epicentre of an exhausted debtor nation, still clinging to an image of British exceptionalism. A young Queen Elizabeth took the throne, Winston Churchill took his second bite at the prime ministerial apple, and the Empire circled the drain. As my mother's contractions began on the day she delivered me, back in the 1940s, the only way to get her to Donegal hospital about ten miles away was by horse and cart. There were few cars in Donegal at the time. There was no taxi stand to turn to. Even if there had been, there were no telephones. For that matter, there was no electricity. The horse-drawn cart was the only option, its boxy body without springs sitting on an unforgiving cast-iron axle and large 4-foot-high wooden wheels, shod in steel. They never made it to the hospital. As the horse plodded along on Donegal's rough roads, my mother realized they had better stop at her parents' thatched cottage. My grandmother got busy preparing to deliver the baby. In due course I arrived, and my grandmother made a startling discovery. 'There's another one in there,' she declared to my mother's shock. Before they knew it, my twin brother Frank, made his appearance. And the two of us became the fourth and fifth children in the family. Frank earned the only crib in the cottage. I was unceremoniously dumped in a kitchen drawer. James Harvey's mother pictured at the Neeld Arms in Paddington, London Pregnant women and their families at the time had so little agency that professionals didn't think they needed to know that twins were on the way. Meanwhile, London, to which we moved three years later, was still marked by the destruction of World War II. Everywhere you turned you found armless and legless men in wheelchairs or on crutches. There were bombed sites all over the city—buildings that had been flattened during World War II. One of them was located right beside our home in St. John's Wood. Another was across Cirencester Street from the primary school I later attended in Paddington. The overwhelming sense of London in the early 1950s was of a grim and dark environment. Thousands of chimneys belched black coal smoke that congealed greasily on everything it touched—and in every lung it entered. Bronchial catarrh was a sort of universal affliction among London adults. After men hopped off busses, many of them performed a routine pantomime of coughing, hawking, and spitting to get rid of the discharge. Life was tough for working people. Work was hard. Wages tight. Spousal abuse was taken for granted. Newsagents sold cigarettes in packs of five, and even one or two at a time. And toughs known as Teddy Boys dressed in Edwardian clothes and terrorized some streets. Teddy Boys in 1950s London But shafts of light penetrated this gloom. Queen Elizabeth II was crowned. A British expedition scaled Everest. And Roger Bannister, an Oxford medical student, broke the legendary four-minute mile barrier. Locally, pubs provided a break from the tedium. The Neeld Arms in Paddington, where my mother worked as a barmaid, served as a social centre for the Irish community in and around Harrow Road. Life was a challenging struggle for the working-class Irish, whether farming in Donegal or living as labourers or domestics in London. But the bleakness and financial stress of those days could be relieved by the love and affection of close-knit families. The book is available now James Harvey's memoir, Grappling With Ghosts: Childhood Memories from Postwar Ireland and London, 2025 is available now. See More: Grappling With Ghoses, James Harvey, Memoir
Irish Independent
9 hours ago
- Irish Independent
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Irish Examiner
21 hours ago
- Irish Examiner
Diary of a Gen Z Student: Yeah, no... I'm grand, I will yeah — and other quirks of Hiberno-English
Some people say there is no such thing as direct translation. Because it's not possible to wholly reproduce a language, region, dialect, historical epoch, culture, atmosphere and so on. For example, there's no word for 'yes' or 'no' in Irish. But the language functions perfectly fine without them. This is all information I know and understand. Despite that, I often forget that speaking my version of English to people who have grown up with their own version will cause some difficulty. This has been brought into focus for me lately as I am visiting my sisters in Australia. Further to that dilemma, I have an incessant desire to fit in with locals whenever I travel abroad. That requires a serious amount of Google and ChatGPT searches before my flight touches down. I want to be ready for anything. Of course, it never really works. My pitiful attempts at another language just ooze tourist. Bookending 'Can I have a cappuccino?' with 'bonjour' and 'merci' isn't going to convince anyone, I have learned. I thought I would get away without any miscommunication in Australia. Sure it's an English-speaking country. We speak the same language. However, in practice, I am coming to understand just how much a language barrier exists between English speakers around the world. Not that it's a major issue, but I have found myself having to repeat and rephrase some of my Irish-isms whenever I'm conversing with an Australian. It's fair enough, if you ask me. A lot of our phrasing doesn't make a whole lot of sense, if you've not heard it before. Hibernian English is what we call it, but speaking gibberish is what everyone else seems to hear. This language barrier first became apparent to me in an airport in Melbourne. A little dishevelled, needing sleep but settling for caffeine, I walked up to a bar and said: 'You don't do coffee?'. A simple enough question, to my mind. But to the poor Australian man behind the counter, I had just greeted him with a statement, telling him that he does not serve coffee. The confused look on his face as he said 'Would you like coffee?' told me that maybe my question hadn't been as clear as I thought. In fairness to the guy, I hadn't asked a question, but merely given the impression of an inquiry. So I tried to summon some standard grammar: 'Yes… do you serve coffee here?' And we were golden. Soon enough, I was sipping an oat milk cappuccino and waiting to board my next flight. Another confusing habit Irish people tend to have is our apparent inability to directly answer a question. It's rare that you'll get a clean cut 'yes' or 'no' from me. Of course, in Ireland, the lack of coherence is grand. We understand how nuts we are. I can greet a magpie and everyone will know that I'm just warding off death. Obviously. We also know that when someone says 'no yeah', we mean 'yes'. And when someone says 'yeah no', we mean 'no'. Also, if someone says 'I will yeah', what they're really saying is 'not a chance'. I could go on, but you know what I'm getting at. It's all pretty intuitive for us. We go off vibes. And that does us perfectly well. It only becomes a problem when you're trying to communicate with someone who's never heard of In a restaurant in Melbourne, I was told that they had run out of the flavoured coffee I ordered. Not a problem. They asked if I would like to try an alternative flavour. Again, thinking I had mastered Aussie-ness, I said 'no yeah, that's perfect.' The waitress staring blankly in response, illuminated the havoc I was wreaking on this nice woman. Rephrasing to 'yes, I'll try that' got things straightened out. But it is only as I continually confuse other English speakers with my Hibernian English habits, that I'm realising just how odd our phrasing can be. Fluent English speakers look at me with confusion when I think I couldn't be clearer. Basically, until I work out how to translate our terribly confusing turns-of-phrase, my chances of appearing local in Australia are not looking good. I've been trying my best, seriously. But there's only so much I can ask ChatGPT before my laptop combusts. Maybe this just is 'a me problem with a Duolingo solution'. Who knows anymore. And if you need this column translated, let me know. I won't be able to help, but I'm interested, all the same.
