Hibernia?

Looking at many of my photos I begin to see why
the Romans called this country

"Winterland".

Why, Oh Why

In a serendipitious quest for one of my own posts,
I found this blog, in the title bar.

Why do we blog?

Well, why sweat the small stuff?

It's possible to blog, so we do it.

It's not a symptom of narcissism
though, in my case it's one way of forgetting
that the wind is howling out of doors.


Let's enjoy it while it lasts...

Winding Down From the Christmas

I was in town today.

Unusually, I drove as I wanted to move speedily.

Normally, I would sit in traffic, listening to music and
admiring the architecture.

Today, there was next to no traffic on the streets.
The gardening expert in one of my favourite shops explained that
it is the same in this week every year.
We've spent all our money, we can't think of anything else to buy.

So I just got some pea and bean seeds to start under glass
and give myself the illusion that Spring is on the way.

Also, benefiting from the free library service that keeps us
educated and entertained, I emerged from the ILAC Centre with several
CDs for the weekend. The improvements in the centre are remarkable.

It is really worth a visit and the atmosphere is as friendly as ever.

Wuthering Heights

I've started the New Year with a thorough appraisal of
past activities.

It seems that one's past will always return,
possibly not as a haunting experience,
but certainly fully documented by new technology
and its eerie advances.

A booklet I wrote while teaching is now listed
on the Net.
Nobody seems to have seen sight nor light of a copy
in years, but I have found memories of shaking my husband awake
at 1 a.m. to read passages of my insights aloud.
Probably he was not listening, but it helped.

Here's a New Year toast to a writer whose love of nature
has kept me in good spirits for years.

"All Their Wars are Merry and All Their Songs are Sad"

I often forget that Irish culture demands a strong stomach and a
steely nerve.

Granny J's comment on the name of The Bleeding Horse pub set me thinking.
It has never worried me. In fact it just "is".

I even have a personal anecdote about it.

Not only should one never act with children or animals,
travelling on a bus with them is also a liability.

My daughter, at the age of two, waved in a nonchantly manner
at "The Bleeding Horse" and announced to the assembly on the top of
the bus

"My daddy loves going to the pub".

I think there was a long explanation about spening many hours
"in there" which brought sage nods from all the old ladies now
travelling into town for mid-morning shopping on the free transport
for the elderly scheme.

I decided to go with it and not try to explain...

It all links up nicely with Chesterton's epic
"Ballad of the White Horse".


Enough said.

It's My Kinda Town...