It’s been a week

I only realised that it was a week since I wrote anything here.  It’s the social whirl in which I live!  All go…

Monday I visited the hospital (again) – nothing new, just ‘come back in 3 months’.  It seems that none of my symptoms are related to my illness – isn’t that great?    I’m sick alright, but not of any of the things that are bothering me.   And it only took 2 1/2 hours queuing up to get that result.  Still, they were all very nice, and I wasn’t paying for the car park.

Conor’s Confirmation on Tuesday – I excused myself from the church part because seats are limited on these occasions and I hate when they all have to move up or squeeze in because Granny is here! (Incidentally I love Confirmations, even thought they go on for ages.  And today’s young man is particularly nice).  Anyway we all went for lunch in a lovely informal happy gathering.

Wednesday is Radio day – a news programme with three lovely friends.  We have a very pleasant hour discussing whatever is in the news at the time.  The publication of the Ryan Report on Industrial Schools/Orphanages etc was not a nice topic but you deal with whatever is on the agenda and it is good to be able to give a point of view.  I have no idea how many people listen – it’s local radio – but we do our best to inform and entertain.  I’m afraid the political scene these days leaves me cold.  Most of the candidates/parties seem only interested in slinging mud at the others and the standard of debate is very poor.

Thursday is Newsletter day – I did a piece about the birds that visit my garden.  Heaven knows they give so much pleasure that they are entitled to be praised.  The place is alive with them – an amazing number of different species.  I wish I knew all the names but I’m afraid my knowledge is very basic.  The Newsletter day begins at around 10am until lunch-time (sometimes later for me because – surprise surprise -I talk too much).  Back again at 7.30 or so until we finish printing sometimes after 10pm.  Thank goodness for modern technology.  It used to be midnight or beyond before we finished.

On Friday there is another radio show – about local events this time.  In between there are grand-children coming in from school to be fed and ferried here or there.  Saturday is Writers Day (this week – it’s once a fortnight and a total joy).   Sundays I collapse!

So, here we are again…..another week started.  I met a woman in the Supermarket today who liked my piece in the Newsletter this week.  That makes it all worthwhile!  Sorry if all this is boring and mundane, but I can only tell it like I see it.  It was a good week!

And Various will be back at the end of this week to entertain you with more up to date stuff or you can check out Oubliette’s You Tube! ‘Mama’ is relaxing in Portugal after her exhausting Rugby season.

Soggy Sunday

I shouldn’t be writing this at all.  I mean, there is no good reason why I should try to encourage you to join me in the awful boredom of this soggy Sunday.

A wet day is a wet day, you might say.  It was bad enough this morning when there was a real shower of rain, bouncing off the windows.  This afternoon just drifted into miserable dampness, grey skies with clouds barely moving as they drift on a small breeze too high up in the heavens to rustle a leaf or cause the pampas grass to sway gracefully.  It’s 9pm now and the first glimmer of light is just appearing towards the south but I think the moon will keep her face hidden as night falls.

Our Christening yesterday was lovely – about thirty of us in the church, at least half of them children.  Baby is just 8 months old and had a ribbon around her tiny strands of golden hair.  Her timing is excellent.  Just as the drops of water were poured over her head she gave a glorious bellow of disapproval, then resumed her normal cheerful countenance.

Eight of us adjourned for lunch to a  hotel by Lough Ennel near Mullingar,  the others went off to start the celebrations, but didn’t plan to eat until later. It would have been nice to go for a walk by the water, through the colourful shrubs, but the rain threatened all the time so we just sat for a while.  The carvery lunch was good and plentiful and came in at less than a tenner each which didn’t do the pocket too much harm as I proffered by Visa (himself wisely can never remember his number).

Manchester United took possession of the FA Cup without scoring a single goal; and Newcastle went down 1 – 0 to Fulham – I kept my eye on the telly in the corner so that I wouldn’t miss any important piece of news.  It’s the journalistic streak in me.  I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the world.

Tomorrow I have a hospital appointment.  It’s pretty damn demoralising when most of ones social engagements begin with a needle extracting blood and end with a “Make another appointment on your way out”.  Time was when a social outing would begin with a Gin & Tonic and finish with a headache!  Oh Dem were de Days!

Im going to tackle the TV again and see if I can force it to entertain me.  I’ve read a book and a half in three days so just can’t concentrate on any more right now.  Oh heck! I’ll pour a G & T and pretend I’m on my way somewhere…….

Scary Sunny Saturday

 

You may well wonder why I’m blogging on such a delightful sunny Saturday while my friends are busy brushing up their writing skills at our Group morning?

Well, I have a day off, that’s why!  Like many a family during this month of May when the ‘Flowers of the Fairest’ are in bloom all over the place (and my courgettes, both of them, are doing very nicely too, thank you for asking) we have a religious milestone to celebrate.  Three, in fact, and all in the one family.

Almost thirteen-year-old girl was confirmed last week.  Nine-year-old boy received his first Holy Communion yesterday with two others from his special school.  And baby-girl will be christened this afternoon.  Isn’t that a lot of things to be thankful for and to enjoy?  A joint party will accommodate cousins and friends at a bun-fight later on in the day.

Mind you, days like this are not without their pit-falls.  Did I get a boy-card or a girl- card for the particular centre of attraction, and did I manage to send them on the right days, and did they arrive in time?  Have I left somebody out or put the wrong gifts in the wrong parcels?  Mistakes like this shouldn’t be important, but they are in these days of sophisticated children who never miss a trick.  No doubt all will be revealed when I see them.  I should have done what the younger folk are doing and waited to bring the cards etc with me.  But one can’t think of everything, can one?

If the sun keeps shining, and I arrive in time, and my feet don’t give out, and my pocket isn’t totally depleted by grasping little fingers I should have a marvellous day.  And by blogging away for myself I’m sure I have contributed to my writing practice and won’t feel guilty for deserting the troops as they share their carefully honed pieces in the lovely room in the Library.

Best be off, time is of the essence…..

Lazy Bloggers

 

As soon as the various cushions scattered themselves abroad the blogging stopped!  No insights into the deep minds of those whose fingers tap out pearls of wisdom for the general edification of the creative writers.

I can understand that many are recovering from the wonderful wedding day where the interior decorating was exciting as cushions of all kinds rotated among the guests and we all raised  glasses to the good health of the bridal couple – some of us perhaps raised our glass a few times more often than was good for our own well being, but I have heard of no disastrous results so far.

Why do weddings make us all dewey-eyed and sentimental?  I suppose it is the eternal hope that love will stay and grow with the years, and that life will be kind.  We are hoping for it for ourselves too, of course, not just for the ‘happy couple’. 

I do hope they enjoyed our gift which was chosen with love and decorated delicately by Oubliette’s flexible fingers. 

I must go now and try and complete the task set last week by the most energetic one among us and create that poem……

Up The Airy Mountain..

It’s the fine weather, you know.  Makes everything look better.  Why does anyone go abroad, one says smugly, when everything is so much nicer here.  Lovely little country, green and golden.

That’s how I felt today as my Fairy Godmother whisked me away to her mountain fastness.  I didn’t even have to do any driving, just loll back giving the odd direction -  just to show that I was, in fact, alive.

Daffodils, tulips and grape-hyacinths nodded a welcome in multicoloured rows – all planted by the diligent fingers of my hostess.  Birds pecked at feeders fat with peanuts, the males outshining the females in their striking plumage. Lovely airy house with wonderful view across the glen. Labrador frolicked at the sight of human company, miraculously trained not to intrude into the sheltered sunny-spot that overflowed with window-boxes of herbs and fruit (and cabbage plants waiting to be transplanted).  What industry had created such a haven, and didn’t expect me to do anything except enjoy it.

It is a place where fairy-tales could be imagined – I’m sure I saw some peeking through the trees as we sat there. 

I just know its going to be a lovely summer.

Whodunnit

I’ve always been fascinated by detective stories and detectives. It’s strange, because I don’t really like the murders, just the solving of the puzzle.  Can’t take the blood and pain, but like the brain-work.

I suppose Miss Marple was the first detective  I came across  in books.  Once I saw the films I went off her a bit.  She was so old, for a start, and maybe it also was because she was a bit dithery and I could see into my future and feared I’d end up that way. 

I should have mentioned that in the main, I like my detectives to be male and handsome.  I find it makes it easier for me to read the book or watch the screen happily.

There was Stratford Johns in ‘Softly Softly’, a TV series in the seventies.  Kids were either strapped into chairs or let loose on the street (depending on the season) so that I could watch that at 6.30pm without fail.  There was Inspector Wexford ( a bit slow he was), followed by Bergerack,  (I still like him, John Nettles, I mean, in Midsummer Murders although he gets through an awful lot of bodies ),  Then there was the wonderful John Thaw as Inspector Morse.  We built a ‘family night’ in our house around him when the first series began.  A women’s night, with my daughter and the transient girlfriends of my sons, complete with crackers and pate and red wine.  Ever so sophisticated. The men in my life usually found the programme too slow and tedious, but of course we girls were all half in love with Morse and didn’t care how much opera he listened to, beers he drank, or time he took to unravel the tale.  Now that a couple of years have passed I have even become quite fond of Lewis – the replacement of Morse in the series.

But my favourite Detective has to be Brunetti in the stories by Donna Leon.  Not only does he solve crime in the wonderful setting of Venice, but he appreciates good wine and gourmet food, adores his wife (bless her heart, I don’t resent her too much) and his two quite normal children.  He introduces me to that wonderful place as he takes note of the streets he walks along, and the boats he hops on and off.  And  he manages to bring romance to the readers of the books who (in my experience) range in age from 30 to  well, a lot older…..  You should check him out.

Did you know?

Did you know that there is a ‘talk like a Pirate’ Day – I think its the 14th September. I know a lad who got detention because he wouldn’t stop even after lunch-break, replying to serious maths questions, ‘arr, it be around forty-five point nine, surr’

I think Hallmark invented this day – and probably designed cards to go with it (or the other way round, whatever…)