Scarlett O’Hara…Eat Your Heart Out

It felt as if I was on a film set at the wedding of my beautiful daughter, Roisin last weekend. She married Jack at Renvyle House in Connemara (actually we had raced across the country to Bray the day before for the formal ‘I do’ bit). But at Renvyle they both said their personal vows with the Atlantic Ocean bubbling at their back, and the yellow sun and white wind swishing around Roisin’s veil. All the guests were seated on white chairs on a lawn of green. The sky was a fabulous mix of colours though for me all was a little blurred as I could not stop weeping. I don’t why because it was all perfect. Are these tears of joy, Ruthie asked? I was startled. She must be right, because I did feel really happy, but how strange that such sobbing could reflect such joy. Anyhow, I was able to pull myself together (thereby missing the photo in which everyone was included) and enjoy myself for the rest of the weekend without a tear in sight.

It was wonderful to have my best friends (the godparents) present, and to be a part of the dressing up with the six beautiful bridesmaids in the library where we cavorted around in pyjamas specially bought by Roisin, putting on make up, blow drying hair, taking photos, eating breakfast, and drinking champagne…maybe that’s a clue as to why the tears started to well up. But, to be fair, I was crying when I was walking down the hotel corridor (I did 20,000 steps along those corridors last weekend!).

Majella, Annemarie and Ben (hotel staff) planned, chivvied, and organised. They ran a personal lift service to Tully Cross whenever people needed to get to bed or to the hotel and responded positively and happily to any query or request. It was like having Mary Poppins at our backs. You should have seen the array of jumpers, jackets, purses and ties they laid out in reception each morning after the night before. And I have to mention Monsieur, the manager of the restaurant. When I proudly announced at breakfast that I was Mother of the Bride when he asked for my room number (not remembered by me), he looked at me directly and responded with, ‘Well, I am the Restaurant Manager.’

All the guests swam noisily in the ocean each morning. Only my Roisin Dubh could get so many people to flail around so happily in the cold sea, cavorting like seals. The photographs don’t do it justice. The activities were fabulous. There were guided walks, volleyball was played in the pool, croquet on the lawn, and lots and lots of chats and laughter. There was music and singing in the evening, not to mention dancing. It was also lovely to have Poppins and Alfie in the mix…though not so sure Joe agreed…he was the person on dog duty.

After, Roisin and Jack headed off to Inis Boffin for a break. I came home to Labasheeda with besties Ruth, Maria and Malcom to look after grand daughter Aine for a few days. It took three grannies to change a nappy on the beach in Kilkee…far too occupied for photos!!!

So here I am…the first morning in ten where I don’t have a plan…things to do…or a baby (neither a big nor little one) to think about. Here are a few photos of the week that was and what a wonderful week it was. Oh God….I feel my eyes welling up.

A New OAP in Labasheeda

My new beginning in life as a pensioner in Labasheeda, County Clare is going well, despite a few hiccups (pipe leaks, warped ceilings, collapsed patio roof…a bit more of a burp, that one). As my friend, Lesley, said houses just seem to know when someone new moves in and they take the opportunity to demand attention! Anyway, as a result, we have discovered neighbours, and young tradesmen who have willingly come to our rescue. It seems Labasheeda and its local townlands are full of young skilled plumbers, electricians and carpenters, all of whom are total sweethearts.

Despite all these hiccups, I feel like I’m still on holiday. This last bank holiday weekend was my birthday weekend. We took Aine and Roisin for coffee and then lunch at Vandaleur in Kilrush and played games in the walled garden, and bought yet another glorious rose bush. On the day itself, Jerry and myself, walked Doughmore Bay and enjoyed the Mafia Cats at the jazz festival over lunch in Morriseys, Doonbeg and then the whole family came for lunch on Sunday where we sprawled, ate, played, walked and snoozed…as is appropriate for OAP birthday celebrations.

The house is lovely, light and very comfortable. Our books are organised, our kitchen is in place, and our pictures are hung. We have a resident fox in the garden and my new birthday toy (a trail camera given to me by Joe) enables me to keep a close(d) eye on him at night. Fortunately, our other neighbours are happy to greet us during the daylight hours… it is rather nice to be able to pop next door to the Charm Bee café run by Ruth at weekends for a coffee, cake and a chat with anyone who is there. I have met and greeted so many people on my little local walks through the village with Pops that I have now got confused as to who is who…but that comes with the OAP territory, I guess, and people are very understanding when I get it all wrong!

One of the other pleasures is being able to swim at the Labasheeda Quay when the tide is high on the Estuary. Roisin got me a lovely dry robe (blue and pink) for my birthday, so I can amble down to the quay, stride into the water, swim across the bay, and be back in the shower in no time. Oh, and one of the delights of the house is a water solar heating system that when the sun shines, heats our water. At first, we couldn’t understand how we had hot water as neither the boiler nor immersion was on…then our young sweetheart plumber confirmed it…the old 90s solar panels for the water works! However, you do need the sunshine.

Another pleasure is Kilrush town. I love its wide streets, its small lanes, and its shops. We’ve spent a lot of time in Gleesons and Brew, hardware stores and the giant warehouse of a Tesco where we buy our favourite Syrah wine! And Little Gems has lovely clothes and jewellery. And Vandaleur Gardens is a fab place to walk, meander and while away the hours. I like the Kilrush marina too and the town has nice cafes. Jellyfish, next to Banner Books, has fabulous jellyfish lights and I can recommend its Spanish eggs and potatoes. And the Potter’s Hand has a lovely outside and does a mean spicy Indian soup and excellent toasties. I have yet to try Beag as it’s been closed for a few days.

So, enough beginner’s enthusiasm for the moment. Onward and upward, and may the wind be at your back!

New Friends and Relations in Labasheeda

We have moved into Labasheeda, West Clare and already made friends: Milly, Molly, Mandy, and Maisie. These are the names I have given the murder of crows that guard our local dominion. Ciaran, Connor, and Cian live across the road in the trees lining the Estuary. In the morning, I stand on my bedroom balcony and sing my good mornings to them. There is much too-ing and fro-ing, cackles, and caws, which makes the garden seem a busy place though in the afternoons, they seem to enjoy siestas and it is very peaceful.

The folk in Labasheeda are also very friendly and we have been heartily welcomed by everyone we meet. (I’m not sure the cat next door feels the same about us as she has been already chased up one of those crow trees twice by Poppins). On Sunday afternoon, we popped into the local with Roisin, Jack, Joe and Aine after unpacking a few hundred boxes, and Fergal warmly shook hands when I introduced myself and said if I tell him my favourite wine, he would get it in! If only I had one favourite!!!

Of course, there are also relations. It turns out Fergal is the partner of the daughter of Jack’s (my son in law to be) uncle by marriage. And when the Eir engineer came to install Sky, it turned out that he is the son in law of Jack’s Aunt. (Sadly, it didn’t help him install Sky as it seems the Crows rule the roost and more poles need to be erected). Patricia, Jack’s mum, comes from Killimer which is only up the road, and it seems she has five or six siblings so I think we’re going to find ourselves lots of new friends and relations. Liam, who was with Mike, putting boxes of flowers on our garden wall, asked to be remembered to Patricia because he was at teacher training college with her in Dublin.

Anyway, more about our new home. It was an old forge back in the day and in the nineties was redesigned by a creative architect, Graham Jones. It is open plan, aside from two bedrooms, has a galley kitchen, a mezzanine and is painted red, green and white throughout. There are interesting features, and a lovely use of wood. The wooden floor downstairs is beautiful and the living area at the back is very cosy. There are two stoves to keep us warm and a fabulous garden to enjoy during this sunny weather. Our boundary is a stream (which I had to wade across this morning to rescue the cat which Poppins had chased up a tree). The mezzanine is ‘drenched’ (the auctioneer’s term) in light and we have fantastic and beautiful views of the estuary. Also, Labasheeda Quay is only a three minute walk and at high tide it is lovely to swim there. The future looks rosy. (I can hear my mother from wherever she is warning me not to invoke the law of Sod).

Our first nights have been wonderful. I have lain awake in my bed, gazing up through the open velux window, the black sky awash with stars. I watched two stars speed across the sky in a straight line, avoiding other stars, as if each had a destination in mind, and a desire to get there on time. Time seems immense as the night hours pass. I can almost feel the earth rotate as I watch Castor and Pollux move South.

After the rainfall today, the stream is gushing again and there is a hint of salt from the midnight incoming tide of the Shannon Estuary. It is hard to believe that this is going to be home.

Anyway, I’ll leave it there for the minute. Tomorrow, we need to get the fence sorted and there are a few more boxes to unpack, heating systems to work out, and at some point I have to start on knitting seven woolly hats for the bridesmaids (don’t ask).

Tout a l’heure!

Farewell and Adieu…It’s Time to Say Goodbye

It is a long time since I put my fingertips to my black Mac keys. For nearly a year, words have escaped me. My poems have disappeared into the routine of daily life and my writing muscles have withered, so forgive the possibly blunt and meandering prose to come but I have news.

When I made tea ten minutes ago, it was dark outside but now a new dawn (hah), is emerging, and I can hear a Great Tit and a Robin singing in the garden hedge. Now, a blackbird has joined in. Behind my scarlet curtains, I can see the grey of morning filtering through the darkness. I can hear cars beginning their rumble through Swellan into Cavan town and beyond, to continue their journey down the N3 to Navan and Dublin. Opposite, Tony and Marie are still asleep, curtains firmly drawn. Solomon is probably up and gone to work already, Catherine is likely to be stirring. Tis not quite Dylan Thomas’ Under Milk Wood, but like all small towns, there are daily routines to see and hear.

In two weeks, it will be all be different. I will be in the West of Ireland. After nearly 25 years, I am leaving Cavan, its 365 lakes, its multitude of forests, its bogs, its one mountain…all of which have inspired border poems and stories. I am bidding adieu to the community groups, the villages, the football grounds, the theatres, the library, the reading group, the poets, the county council, the town. And I say thank you. Cavan, you have enriched my life, helped me raise my children, and taught me much about love, conflict, and perseverance!

For my third age, I am moving to the pretty village of Labasheeda (bed of silk) in West Clare. Labasheeda is on the Shannon Estuary and our new home is to be (I hope) an old converted, open plan cottage with fabulous views and a lovely garden, beneath a rookery. Every morning I will be able to have coffee on my balcony with the crows and my aperitif in the evening with rooks.

Living in Clare, we will be closer to Roisin and Joe. As you know, if you have read previous blogs, I love Limerick: its restaurants, pubs, art galleries, the milk market and Joe, my son, who lives there. And in the summer, after her wedding, my beautiful, amazing daughter, Roisin, is moving with Jack, and my granddaughter, Aine, to Miltown Malbay which along with Kilrush will be my new local towns. I really like Kilrush. It has lovely wide streets, a marina and Vandaleur, a fabulous walled garden and wood. Miltown Malbay has lovely restaurants, an excellent bakery, a secondhand bookshop and the Willy Clancy festival, not to mention a knitting shop (you really don’t want to know my terrible exploits in the world of wool and needles). And, of course, instead of the forests and lakes of Cavan, Poppins and I will be walking the beaches…Spanish Point, White Strand, Quilty. Glor and the other delights of the county town, Ennis are only 30 minutes away, and finally, English family and friends may be pleased to know that Shannon airport is but a 50 minute drive.

I am hoping that all this change may lead new words and fresh poems for I feel sure the Rooks will inspire me and I plan to make friends with them all. But if not, no matter. If you do not hear from me again, dear reader, I leave you with a link to the latest Miltown Malbay promotional video below. You are always welcome.

Adieu, Cavan, thank you for the memories.

MILTOWN Malbay Development Company has introduced a new “anti-promotional” video to show off the town’s beauty and unique charm.

‘Don’t… Visit Miltown Malbay’ – tourism video takes a new tack

Source: Clare Echo https://search.app/CcGR3U7gdmZZG28K6

Supermarches, Swordfishes and a Bit of Knitting

Butter-like rays are spreading through the trees and over the dark slated roof tops. The sun has peeped over the forest and is foraging through the garden. But it is cold, and I am wearing a black hoodie over my flimsy blue and white striped nightie that in my first week I chased Aine through the garden in. Hard to believe now. This last week has been more like Irish weather, heavy rain, followed by blue sky, long wet grass, dripping trees, and occasional sunshine. In the late afternoon, instead of enjoying the terrace, Jerry and I have taken it turn to sit and read in the one comfy armchair in the verandah with tea and pur beurre biscuits.

Highlights of the week: having my friends Lesley and Paul to stay, eating a croque monsieur in the rain, fighting off Alsation dogs from eating Poppins (the French like their big dogs as well as their lap dogs), buying and cooking big slabs of swordfish (delicious with lashings of butter, lemon and garlic) at the market and knitting a rather raggedy hat in the Queen Kate of Strasbourg (don’t ask) colours which are light green, baby pink and black.

A week last Friday, my friends, Lesley and Paul came to stay for two nights at the start of their holiday, and Lesley taught me to knit. Well, actually, I knew how to knit, but she reminded me and showed me how to read a pattern. I was going to make a baby hat. She brought me all the materials, wool, needles, tape measure, a stitch catcher thing (which I cannot grasp at all) and the pattern. It’s perfect, because as I hate doing nothing (unless I’m asleep), now I can knit. Also, having my hands clicking away means that I have less opportunity to nibble madeleine cakes, crisps, and French chocolate mousses (though I have not stopped altogether). Now, because I am a bit slap dash, sadly, my end product was not brilliant, but a carefully staged photograph impressed my family, and Lesley who had left. However, when I tried to stitch it together, it went completely wrong. The pink stripe met the green stripe, and it seems I grew stitches so it was very uneven. It’s alright, said Lesley, when she saw the final photo, you have it inside out. I didn’t.

Anyway, so now I am trying a new and bigger baby hat for Aine in the Palestinian colours (green, red, black and white). This involved me finding a French wool shop. I cannot tell you how grown up and clever I felt going into a such a place, with knitting needles poking out the back of my baby rucksack. Inside, there were walls of wool, and racks of all sorts of torturous looking instruments. Very smartly dressed women were discussing patterns in corners. When I was approached by an older, very chic, shop owner, I was able to hide my total ignorance by pretending I didn’t have the lingo (well, I didn’t have to pretend) and there I was, apparently (though I’m still not sure) discussing yarn needles sizes, types of wool, and baby hats as if I knew it all.

So, knitting has definitely been a highlight. So was the swordfish, the market in St Jacut, the Croque Monsieur. However, I should also mention our visits to the Intermarches as they are very frequent. We seem to pop into one wherever we are for a bottle of milk, or wine, or some cheese. The one in Lamballe was a hyper intermarche which I got very excited about. We decided to have lunch first, and the brasserie I happened to choose was bang next to the supermarket in the industrial estate just outside the town. It was buzzing, packed full of men at lunch, and families. It served a plat du jour or nothing. When we ordered just the salad from the plat du jour, I knew the waitress would disapprove, and she did. Now that is something I would really like to learn…how to do the utter disdainful French shrug and toss of head.

Anyway, so if you want to know about French Supermarkets…I am your woman. By the way, talking of supermarkets, we went to the strangest Casino in Plancoet (another brand of supermarche, though there is a real fancy, art nouveau Casino in Dinard, but we dare not go in there). This Casino was actually spooky in there, darkly lit, full of empty shelves, with only one person working in the whole place.

Anyhow, now, the sun is in full beam, splitting the garden trees. It is time to get up and head off to Plage Enogat, near Dinard, to walk the coast line and swim in the sea. A bientot.

Bretagne en Pleut

Silver is in abundance in the garden this morning. Rain drops are everywhere, hanging from the acer tree, swinging like monkeys from the oaks, dripping from the electricity lines, hanging ponderous, from the open veloux window. The garden is green, sodden, and voluptuous, full of water and rain, with a wondrous smell of petrichor. It might be a home day today rather than a gallivanting one, but then again, as in Ireland, the weather does change. Tonight, we want to go the Jazz Festival in Dinan but TF1 forecast thunderstorms here this afternoon. We will see.

It has threatened rain all week. Indeed, the raincoats have travelled with us in the back of the car, but we haven’t needed them. The sun has tangoed with the clouds and it has never been chilly. Poppins and myself have happily clambered around the Marche Littoral (coastline walk) in St Cast de Guilo, or St Briac sur Mer, we have marched in the early evening across the Baie de Beaussais, and scrabbled through non existent paths in the local forets. We have sauntered around lovely lakes in warm sunshine, and sunbathed on sand and rocks on beautiful beaches in swimming costumes. Most evenings we have eaten on the Terrace or on the Veranda with the sliding windows wide open and lain out on the lounge chairs in the garden, reading. So, I am not sad that this morning is silver. I made a delicious pot au fer (beef stew) yesterday and have the broth ready for when we want a comforting bowl of soup. I also have a tin of cassoulet. Today might be the day to investigate its contents. I do hope we get to the jazz in Dinan though, tonight.

The rain stayed away and last evening, I loved sitting in the café, with my ruby leffe listening to the Jazz. Well, actually, I didn’t really like the experimental jazz (lots of vibrating strings, and out of tune notes played long) but I loved the ambience, the square, the crowded cafes, and the Plain trees. Yesterday, we also explored Plouer Sur Rance. It’s where the Rance River meets the Estuary and there was a lovely restaurant, a beach, a pool and good walks. It will be returned to…for lunch! But not today. Today the rain pours, so maybe it will be the broth and tin of cassoulet day (it wasn’t) and I want to finish my Stephen King novel!

So, I did finish my Stephen King novel, Billy Summer. He has successfully got me back into reading, and I have now begun Ken Follet’s novel set in the 18^th century, The Armor of Light. All of this year I have struggled with the books I’ve chosen. I didn’t like or finish Caledonian Road, by Andrew O’Hagon and struggled with the latest Chigozie Obiama because it was so grim. So, it’s a relief to be enjoying the books when the sun don’t shine.

Plancoet, Cast le Guildo have been favourite finds this week. Plancoet is a lovely town on a hill which could be in Derbyshire except for the fabulous park in its midst. The French really know how to do parks. And Cast Le Guildo was a rather elongated town which stretches far and wide across its peninsula with a lovely town beach, a port, a marina, lovely little coves and some gorgeous houses. However, the lastest, exciting find has been Dinard. Even on a cloudy day, it was a gorgeous seaside town filled with seasidey accoutrements…casino, buckets and spades, ice creams, dogs, colourful windmills, rows of brasseries, ads for croque monsieurs and gallettes. The Marche Littoral was a wonderful clamber along the coast with fabulous views over the old cite and massive shiny white cruisers laying in the bay. I have also found a lovely cove to swim in. We shall return. But, first, today is market day in Dinan. We are going to buy market stall roasted chicken and roti pomme de terres cooked in the fat for lunch! Yum yum. And I might just get myself some ear rings!

Day Ten En Bretagne

There is a red Acer tree poking through my open French bedroom attic window and the morning sun stipples the colour so that it alternates between scarlet and green. The drone of a hedge cutter or some such tool floats through the branches but the cold nip of a brand new day offsets the irritating buzz. After all, our French neighbours have to keep their gardens perfect for our appreciation!

It is our tenth day of home in St Maudez. Our garden is gorgeous, green and full of young oaks, apple trees, (and therefore apples) and colourful wildflower bushes. There is a lovely terrace outside the kitchen, a veranda dining room with floor to ceiling windows and a comfortable sitting room which is used by Poppins as a bedroom for we are usually out, eating or in bed and she can no longer climb the stairs to be with us.

St Maudez is not far from Dinan, a beautiful city with medieval ramparts, a fine castle, interesting dungeons, lovely jardins, and lanes full of interesting shops. We are going to a jazz festival there this weekend, and market tomorrow. It is also not far St Suliac which is a beautiful French commune on the sea which has interesting walks and a fab restaurant which I want to return to. So, our French home is in the countryside but close to many beaches and seaside towns. Yesterday we went to St Croix de Portrieux where there are lovely beaches, but it is very touristy and after an explore of several beaches, I was glad to come back to our quiet garden.

The first five of our ten days were absorbed by family. We had a brilliant time exploring the region and all the Intermarches and Le Clercs in the region. Thanks to Roisin and Aine (we had to eat when she slept), we had amazing lunches in the nearest restaurants which happened to be fantastic with bottles of crémant, oysters, and fabulous fishes. We ‘cooked’ lovely salads, bread and cheese in the evenings on the Terrace. We swam in the clear blue sea, slept on golden beaches, pushed Aine around in her pram, played with Aine, cuddled Aine, walked with Aine around the garden, put Aine to bed and then enjoyed lots of Cote de Rhone until Aine woke up and found she was missing out! It was absolutely perfect.

Of course, when they packed up their camper van full of Le Clerc and Intermarche produce and set off on the grand Return to Dublin and Limerick, St Maudez returned to the peaceful Brittany village it was before they arrived and I walked around the garden with Poppins instead of Aine, much to Poppins’ joy. I could actually hear her growling under her breath…thank God they’ve gone and taken their pesky Alfie with them. (Alfie is their little, much put apon, Jack Russell). When Aine first appeared on the scene, I discovered that I speak to Aine in the same tone of voice I use with Poppins. Every time I talk to or facetime Aine, Poppins comes joyously bouncing up to me for a lick and a cuddle and is disgusted when eventually, I have to push her away. It’s a dogs life.

Talking of life, its Day Ten and I must get on. I have discovered a perfect local walk for me and Pops around the village, through sunlit spangled woods which I will set off on now and then we’ll have breakfast. It’s a quiet day today. We’re going to potter around Dinan. So, until next time…adieu.

Wonderful Whistle Stop in London

Colchester, Cabaret and Cambridge alliterate nicely my London visit to my friends and family this week. The stream of hello and goodbye hugs and kisses began in the mid-term car park in Stanstead airport as old and much loved friend Martin had instructed me to catch the free bus outside arrivals so he could avoid paying parking fees. Sadly, he got my flight times wrong and ended up paying more as he had to wait past the time limit (but I’m worth it) and he managed to give me a hug anyway. From then on, the hugs and kisses became a constant as as did my comings and goings between various exhibitions, theatres, pubs, dinner tables, garden parties, river fests, and the other delights of ‘the old country’. What a wonderful week.

It started off at the seaside in Brightlinsea, Essex and ended up in Somerset House at the Courtauld Gallery. In between we visited the Zanele Muholi and Expressionists exhibitions at the Tate, had a Thai lunch in Maria and Malcolm’s garden, enjoyed a Fitzpatrick Garden Party, and loved the Zoology museum in Cambridge. I also played pool for the first time in 45 years! But the high light was going to see Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club. My family had given me two tickets at a table seat for my 65^th birthday and Joe and I indulged in German sausage, cheese and crackers, champagne and cocktails while watching an absolutely wonderful performance. The direction and choreography were amazing, the orchestra in the upper echelons of the theatre, superb, and the acting was the best. We were totally immersed into Berlin in the 1930s. As the advance of the Nazis became evident, it was extraordinary how the Cabaret morphed from high class fun and games to low brow sleaze and misery. If you can go…do. Meeting the new babies at the Fitzpatrick Garden party was also great fun. It was amusing (and please forgive me, my children, nephews and nieces) to watch their parents chase, cajole, and scold while we grandparents smiled, sat back with our glasses and wines and cooed from a safe distance! I am so lucky to be able to dip into London and its wonderful whizzing transport connections, art galleries and theatres with friends and family who I really love, and then be able to return to the more tranquil realm of Ireland where I feel I now belong. Next stop, France.

The Stormy Last Five Days of UK Election Campaign

We spent the last five days of the UK election campaign in Kerry. On arrival in Cahersiveen, we went straight to Ferdha’s pub and had chowder for lunch: light, creamy, stuffed with prawn, cod, potato with a hint of sauvignon blanc. I had a pint of smithwick’s shandy and sized up the blackboard specials with an eye on the future, it was to be either curried monkfish or crab. There was not a hint of a politician anywhere, not even Sir Ed Davey bungee jumping.

After returning to the very nice Airbnb, we unpacked and went out to check the lay of the land. That afternoon, we found two ancient stone forts snuggled among a scrabble of coves, a number of smuggling piers, a stretch of beaches, and green cliffs that rose, momentous, into grey cloud, crammed with earth, soil, and craggy rock. When the kids were little, we used to build stone or wood forts…but our skills never extended to the wonders of Cahergal. Meandering the country lanes, we sniffed at the strands of salty air which hung like large luminous diamanté drops on yellow primrose, ragged robin, herb robert.

The next day began with drizzle and lemon tart, fresh baguette, and cappuccinos from Petit Delice. On the way back, I popped into Corkery’s and bought sink strainers, plastic bowls and Epsom salts. I just love those types of shops.

Given the drizzling rain, we decided to investigate what was once the barracks in the town. It stood tall, white, narrow, three stories high, staring over the River Fertha but it looked like a turreted fairy castle. However, do not be fooled. In we went and I was instantly turned into a miserable, haggard, old age pensioner! Having turned sixty-five, I was charged the concessionary price while Joe had to pay the adult price! This was definitely an age pivoting moment for me. Anyway, fortunately, I was able to still climb all three stories. The barracks was all about Daniel O’Connell, the Catholic Emancipator. Did you know he inspired Ghandi? I was impressed! Later in the week, we visited O’Connell’s enormous, lovely house and gardens (with plants imported from South America) in Derrynane…and let me tell you, he could afford to be lavish in sentiment!

On day two, Valentia Island beckoned us across a narrow concrete bridge. We decide to explore the island in clockwise direction so our first stop was Bray Head. (Obviously, we are still in Kerry, not Wicklow). Up we climbed to visit a clump of cows, poised precariously, at the tip of the cliff. I don’t think they have cattle on Bray Head in Wicklow. When occasionally a ray of sunshine was able to pinpoint them in the sea mist, the views of Skellig islands were fantastic. Next, we meandered around to the Light House perched on the cliff. During our explorations, we went up to the top of the lighthouse and tapped out our names in dots and dashes. It was very windy, and I had to cling to the side to avoid being blown off. After much needed carrot cake in the café, we went on to check out the Tetrapod prints. These are the footprints of the first fish ever to emerge from the sea and walk on the earth. It happened here…in Kerry! We wondered how the geologists knew. I bet the Healy Raes told them. Later, watching the footy, I thought about how impressive it is that, after a million years, those fishes evolved to become these two teams of grown men kicking a ball around a field, and men shouting at each other over a podium.

On day three, we climbed to the high of the Castlequinn Loop, trying to avoid stepping on the buttons and black swirls of poop that come from arses of the horny sheep that stood on the rocks, bleating for all their worth. It was beautiful…for an hour. There was blue sky, rays of sun, emerald seas and a glorious vista of Horse and Puffin islands. Sated with such incidental glory, we headed down for lunch in Cahersiveen. Unfortunately, I chomped on an olive which was in my Greek Salad and it broke my tooth! I can now feel a jagged hole and it hurts when I breath in air. I did know my dentist was also in Kerry (bodyboarding with his kids) but I don’t know where. So, instead, I go buy Ibu Profen, which does the trick. That evening, by way of consolation, Joe took us out to The Oratory, a converted church, for pizza and wine. (You see, the roles are definitely reversing). Anyway, old or not, it was a lot better than communion!

On our last day we head to Catherdaniel. The weather storms around between wind, sun and rain but these are elements with which we’re now at home. In Waterville, coaches of tourists clamber out of coaches to mill and snap the fabulous views. We pass by. The road rises. The sky is blue. We come to a bend and drive through a mountain pass, gasp with delight at the stunning view: glistening gems and sparkling jewels are all aglitter in the sea. We laugh with glee, and descend down through a glorious avenue of trees and fragmented rays of sun, to reach Derrynane beach. It is practically empty and beautiful. The tide is out. Joe and I canter across the sand, over rocks and pools, in the dunes. The wind is fresh, the stone is warm, the sea is blue, black, grey or green. The air is filled with sun and rain. Glorious.

On Thursday 4 July, we have to wend our way home, away from glistening seas, and back up to Cavan via Limerick where we drop Joe off. At five o’clock, we pick up Poppins from Precious Pets, and come home. I make leek soup, lay out cheese and crackers, ready to watch the British election results. Last time we watched the British elections, my friends Kevin Higgins and Susan Millar du Mars were with us and it was a wipe out for Labour. Thank God, this time, the Tories are wiped out. Kevin would have enjoyed it. I truly hope that Labour is able to tackle the poverty and Tory destruction in a more comprehensive manner than Keir Starmer suggested on his campaign. I am also pleased by the increased Lib Dem vote. I found myself in agreement with more of their policies before I went to Kerry than Labour’s. The increase in the Reform vote is very alarming and scary but, at least, there is now a salty glimmer of hope in the air in the UK, though I’m pretty sure it will be stormy weather ahead!

Accountability and Love in Borris

At the Borris Festival of Writing and Creative ideas this year, the wonderful Ocean Vong (a Vietnamese/American poet and writer) described language as being a form of gravity; once you are in it, you can never get out of it. Personally, for me, that gravity is best described as honey, I am always in a constant wrangle with the sticky stuff, but yes, it is the use of words at Borris that is the most pulsating, exciting, and vibrant of commodities on offer at the Festival.

Ocean Vong also talked beautifully about the accountability of writing and, indeed, accountability was an issue that came up a lot in the festival. It was raised by the foreign correspondents, Fergal Keane, Orla Guerin, Lyse Doucet as well as writers like Sinead Gleeson, and Afua Hirsch, Lemn Sissay and Peter Frankopan. I also listened to Kai Strittmatter and Isobel Hilton discussing Dictatorship (in China), and Misha Glenny talking about the increasing power of the microchip and the few nations who control its production. As the years roll past at Borris, the concerns about accountability and democracy become more and fraught.

Fortunately, the organisers provide choices and if you don’t feel like discovering that the ‘end is nigh’, you can go and listen to Lemn Sissay, who is boyant, positive, clever and thought provoking or Ruby Wax or just wonder around, go and get a drink and enjoy the general craic. Sometimes at Borris you need to just take time out and listen to the general hubbub of what’s going on around you.

The Borris festival is set in the wonderful grounds of a stately home and the food trucks are a delicious mix of wholesome: Indian snacks, burritos, ice cream, lobster. It is definitely cool and clever. The wooden toilets use sawdust, and general waste is recycled. The speakers are intelligent and thoughtful; they are journalists, poets, novelists, musicians, educationalists, and policy makers who debate concepts, creativity, world events, wars, climate change, and power. These speakers are then reflected in its listening audience who are also mainly over fifty, white, journalists, writers, educators, and policy makers. This is the festival’s main downfall, but I have been going to Borris for nearly ten years and each year I leave buzzing with bonhomie, knowledge, and the joy of mixing with other interested and engaged people. Also, every year I meet yet another person I know!

The stand out session for me this year was listening to Lemn Sissay, Sally Phillips (Comedien and Actress) and her son, Olly Bermejo. The whole room laughed, danced, and wept listening to the three of them talk about the ups and downs of being different. It was brilliant, emotional, funny, shocking, engaging and joyous: they described the cruel and barbaric behaviour experienced by young children at the hands of carers and adults. Sally moved the room to tears as she described the love, work and endeavor of mothers with disabled children yet it was so up-lifting at the end when Sally’s son, Olly, sang Will You Marry Me by Jason Derulo. We all stood up and joined in, dancing and waving our hands.

I also enjoyed Colm Toibin talking about his new book, Long Island. While I enjoy his books, occasionally, I have found Colm Toibin to be a little arrogant, but this time I found him gentle, and humorous. I also loved listening to Kevin Barry reading his new book The Heart of Winter. He has a wonderfully expressive face and a superb reading voice. I think I might have to get it on audible. He was on with Ye Vagabonds who are a band from Carlow. I don’t want to sound patronising, but they were such gorgeous, young men with no pretensions.

I also enjoyed listening to Simon Armitage, the current English Poet Laureate. He has a lovely, ironic sense of humour and his poems are humorous and moving. Olivia O’Leary is also a lovely interviewer and she got him to read some gorgeous poems and describe the challenges of his work as poet laureate i.e. writing poems for the great occasions. I loved how he described poetry writing as being a challenge and the poem then being the solution. He found ‘a way into the coronation’ poem by writing a poem which imagined his mum sitting among the great and the good.

Overall and finally, it has to be Lemn Sissay who was my favourite. I loved his humour, his attitude, his love of life and indeed also his book of quatrains, Let the Light Pour in. His general philosophy of life, and his wisdom was a tonic and I was delighted when I was able, just before I left, to give him a big, big hug. Lemn, I love you. (He’ll like that!)