Fifty years of friendship is a fine thing. It’s like an ancient Constable painting: the colours are possibly a little muted, the canvas is probably a little wrinkled, but the trees are still green, the sky embraces the light behind the clouds, and black oxen are still being driven through the mill pond.

Actually, choosing a Constable painting as a simile works because the landscape is not too different from the countryside around Oxford which is where I have just returned from visiting my old friend, Ruth. Myself, Ruth and Maria shared a flat in Norwich at University back in the day, and then Ruth and I lived together for ten years afterwards in London. Watching and listening to Ruth this weekend was like staring at a much loved painting. Her gesticulations, her patterns, her flows are so familiar to me that I felt very at home in her life even though her every day is so different to mine, living in Cavan.

I was really fortunate with the weather. Oxford was drenched in sunshine and warmth. The glittering leaves of the sixty-foot weeping silver birch outside my bedroom window almost blinded me in the morning. The tulips stood, orange and red, proud and tall, amongst blue bells, sweet rocket, sage as we sat outside for our tea. The may blossom was just beginning to flower as we cycled along the river. In the evening, our meals were full of home grown swiss chard, parsley, sage, garlic, mint and beans. Maria joined us on Saturday, and we walked along the river to The Perch, and I lunched on ox cheeks and for dessert had a ginger pudding with vanilla.

Oxford is a gorgeous mix of country and town. The river walks, the meadows, the parks, the punting, and the landscaped gardens are beautiful. The spires, towers, the golden stone, the churches, colleges, the arched wooden portals where one peeps through and catches glimpses of grassed squares…it all combines to create a feeling of lost romance.

The three of us walked and talked of difficult relationships, our families: children, parents, brothers, sisters as, indeed, we have done for fifty years. I used to think that we would learn how to deal with our emotions, understand them better, learn how to smooth over the issues, but instead, over the years, they have kept on coming with different angles. Now, we have got used to accommodating and living with them but sharing them always helps. Old friends are like poems, they help you to express and understand what you feel.

Our nights of wild drinking and dancing are gone. A glass of wine with our dinner sufficed. In the early evenings, as Ruth cooked the produce from her garden, we shared poems, talked of favourite pod casts, and only touched on our fears about Gaza, Sudan, Trump and artificial intelligence, for these are things we cannot absorb. Then, both exhausted, we retired at 9ish to our beds, to our books, our radio, our wordle puzzles. It was a wonderful time.

Mucus and phlegm played starring roles in our family holiday last weekend in Sligo. Daughter, Roisin, and I spluttered throughout our stay at the foot of Ben Whisken, in tune with howling wind, rainbow studded sprays of rain and yellow bangs of sunshine (typical Sligo weather). However, Baby A (Aine) was the principal star of the weekend, blowing huge, lovely, green snot bubbles and smearing all our clothes as we picked her up for cuddles. Following her snot studded performances, Roisin and myself competed for longest, loudest, most incessant coughing or sneezing fits thereby forcing all dinner time conversation into minute bite sized sentences. Actually, at 3am on Friday night, as I sat up in bed to enable the phlegm to get better access up the windpipe, the coughing led to me being able to briefly admire a beautiful, nearly full, white moon hanging in the wind-lashed bare branches of a silver birch outside my bedroom window. But sadly, I was in no fit state for poetry, so it stayed a lone image. However, the weekend turned into a poem itself.

It started with snow on the Friday morning…seven inches of it in Cavan (Jerry measured it with a ruler). It looked and sounded beautifully silent, but I wasn’t sure about driving in it. However all was fine. The worst part was our own front yard…that was the only place I skidded. In the evening, we all arrived safely from our different starting points and settled into in our beautiful Airbnb.  We began by drinking champagne to celebrate the successful completions of PHDs, Masters, and Yoga Guru courses by the younger generation, then ate delicious fish pie cooked by yours truly and safely transported across the wilds of Ireland.

The kitchen/sitting room had a picture window overlooking the snow-capped mountains, and comfy window seats where you could stretch out and gaze into the landscape. It was the perfect place for peace and relaxation…until someone started coughing or someone else suggested doing something at the same time as another family member now thought it would be a good time to…you know what families are like.

However, we all succeeded in doing what we wanted or what we could, given the constraints of babies, weather, and sickness. Some of us slept, some walked the Benbulben Forest Walk, others chased the waves on Streedagh beach. We all drove around the Gleniff Horseshoe (in a Toyota convoy) had coffee at the Koffee Kart and we all went to the Cliffony Market and brought homemade marmalade, elderflower cordial and seaweed to cook and eat to get rid of our chest infections. We all had a lovely lunch in a local restaurant where Aine made a few tours of the tables, holding hands with whomever offered her one, to show off her brand new walking techniques.

In fact, we all had a lovely time though I was in bed at 7.30pm as soon as I got home on Sunday. It was very nice to be able to cough, splutter and sneeze as much as I wanted in peace and to have no one compete with me!

Street trams (from the 50s and noughties), clocks, castles, churches, towers, turrets, palaces, bridges, museums, art galleries and restauraces (restaurants) were the order of my stay in Prague last week…plus a lot of steps. I discovered a new impressionist, Alexandr Onishenko who paints on a black canvas, and who after he sells a painting, prints the original and repaints the same strokes to make the painting again! I also loved the exhibition of Banksy work which was cleverly put together in a very old and massive empty church.

My son, Joe and I were in Prague for three days. We arrived from Dublin at 10am on Wednesday (2am bus from Cavan) and left at 3am Saturday and made good use of our time, ending up at a Brutus (you may well ask) gig in a Prague cavern on Friday night along with 300 other old rockers of my years! The keyboard player was an old fella with a humped back, long flowing grey hair and beard. He seemed to be the sound engineer too. They played covers but in Czech, and everyone pumped the air and danced. It is very strange how difficult it is to remember the name of a song you know well when it is sung in a different language…particularly after a few drinks.

Prague is very beautiful, full of magnificent buildings, squares, cobbled streets and wide, grand avenues. We were lucky enough to have no rain and even some sunshine, so walking and exploring was a pleasure. The Vltava river wends its way through the city, under the famous Charles Bridge which was a bit of a nightmare so we stared at it from a distance, usually from a great height. Prague Castle, which overlooks the city, isn’t just a building, it’s a small town, wedged with palaces, basilicas, houses, law courts with the gothic/baroque St Vitus Cathedral (it took 600 years to build) centre stage with the ubiquitous cafes and restaurants everywhere in between. There are 240 steps up to the Castle…but it was worth it. After the castle, we made a last minute decision to go to the petit Eiffel Tower on the opposite hill. It took me nearly an hour to climb up there…but again it was worth it, and I loved the mirror maze next door. It reminded me that the way I look could be worse!

The clunky mechanical clicks and ticks of the Astronomical Clock of the Old Town Hall with the figure of Death ringing his bell, the Philosopher, the Miser, and the Vain man amongst many other characters popping out to parade on the hour is pretty cool. However, the old square itself is a bit of a nightmare. I can’t imagine what it must be like in the height of the tourist season.

Another museum we went to that I loved was the Illusion Art Museum. Apparently, there was a Fantastical Illusion Art Museum too but we didn’t get there. There is no better gleeful delight for my inner child (definitely striding back into form in my third age) than seeing Joe at the end of my hand, standing on a chair. Or seeing a boring two dimensional painting turn into a raging three dimensional animal or seeing a messy floor of toys turn into a face. I was in my element.

In terms of Czech food, we bit into real cake, strudel, sausage, pickle, and goulash in the cafes and pubs. The beer was good and we tasted lovely craft beers, even one made by the monks at the Strahov Monastery on our way down from the Castle. On our first evening, we went to a Katmandhu restaurant and had an excellent and very cheap curry. On our second evening, we went to a small middle eastern restaurant, Habibi’s, and had a platter of Jordanian dishes which were truly excellent. Habibi means sweetie, by the way. For our last supper, so to speak, on the recommendation of a friend of Joe’s from Prague living in Limerick, we went North of the city. After visiting the Contemporary Art Museum (which had a very alarming, rather scary Kafka exhibition but also an interesting wooden blimp construction hanging over its rooftop) we went to the rather fab Cross Club. We hadn’t been able to get tickets to the gig but we had excellent pizza and cocktails before going back uptown to see Brutus.

It was lovely to wander around with Joe (he is witty, and a brilliant navigator, I don’t know where he gets it from) and enjoy the city, the art, the museums, the drinks and the food. Prague is similar to Riga where we visited en famille last year in its Eastern European vibe. However, it is much more touristy and reminded me of a giant toy town. I did love the small convenience stores that were dotted around. As in Riga, they were stuffed with everything you could possibly need ranging from tooth brushes, hoovers to packets of rice.

Finally, I loved travelling by tram in Prague. They were very frequent, on time, and made trips across town really easy. You got on one, got off elsewhere, got on another from the same stop, got off again, got on another (if you wanted) and arrived exactly where you wanted to be without taking a step! Excellent stuff. However, thinking back on it, Joe might have facilitated this wonderful experience! It was a brilliant Christmas present. Thank you, Joe.

Our Christmas tree was thin and rather ragged this year, but without the grown-up children to interfere, I was able to decorate it with gold tinsel, gold bells, silver and gold baubles and the interesting home-made decorations by besties, Martin and Kobi. These include a polished oyster shell and homemade tiny woolly hat…so, in the end, in Mid December, I liked my Christmas tree very much which was a good start. Odd to think now that the tree is already shorn, needleless and out by the bins. When Christmas is over, it’s really over.

Unfortunately, that excellent beginning was upset by Roisin having to go into hospital to have her appendix out so she was in some pain during the festivities but Aine was in great form, sticking her tongue out, edging her way around the coffee table, lunging for any mobile phone left lying around, throwing fruit around, pulling all the books out of the bookshelves, all the time smiling that gappy, toothless smile of hers.

I love to have family around, whatever the time of year and in whatever frame of mind or body. I love having the craic, cooking together and, of course, at Christmas, giving gifts.

For the last few years, Christmas’ have been harder to celebrate…set against the scenery of wars or civil wars, plagues, streams of refugees, political upheaval. However, each year, we manage to set our backs resolutely against the backdrop which does seem rather uncharitable, and unchristian, but what else can you do?

Talking of unchristian, this Christmas I was listening to Alistair Campbell and Rory Stewart on their Leading podcast interviewing Tom Holland about his book Dominion.  He was saying that people in the West, whether religious or not, are basically Christian because Christian values dominate in the West. This is an argument I have tentatively put forward (though I think, in fairness, not 700 pages worth) in my discussions with my Catholic friends about my non religious background. Just because I am not religious, doesn’t mean I don’t have ‘Christian’ values but I am pretty sure these values are probably the central tenets of Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, and Buddhism as well.

Oddly enough, it turns out that the book ‘Skippy Dies’ by Irish author, Paul Murray, that I am reading at the moment is also about 700 pages. You can never tell when you are reading on the kindle. I was enjoying it at the start. Set in a boy’s boarding school in Dublin, it describes the daily life of both pupils and teachers (priests and secular) in an insightful and humorous way. Paul Murray is a good writer, brilliant at description, with delightful similes or metaphors. In this book, he captures the boarding school ethos well, and at first his characters are innocent and harmless. He made me smile with their boyish and male escapades but as the year passes their vulnerabilities are abused by everyday life, and their experiences become violent and the book becomes almost unpleasant. It’s a clever reflection of our society at the moment. I find it impressive…to be able to write a story which recognisably encapsulates the collapse of society in 700 pages!  At the moment, I can only read a bit at a time for it is too much. Then, I have to put it down to do something else. I am interested in how it will end. Will he be able to do something with it? Can Paul Murray create hope for us all? (yes, he does).

It’s been a joy having my son, Joe around for the whole of the festive period. He walks Pops with me most days, and tramping along in the wind and rain, we discuss the different aspects of the world’s disintegration: the frightening rise in right wing leaders /dictators in Hungary, Holland, Argentina, India, China, Venezuela, or the crazy wars in Ukraine, Sudan, Mali, Gaza. We have decided to boycott American products as Biden continues to make emergency payments to Israel, bypassing congress. It won’t make much of a difference, I said. Maybe not, he answered, but it means we are doing something. So, I am investigating what American products I invest in. It is mainly the communications sector. I will try not to buy any new Apple products or books from Amazon (I have signed up with Kobo e-books for my kindle purchases). Netflix is part of my Sky platform…which, although is a division of American outfit, Comcast, is British. Fortunately, I don’t subscribe to any other platform (Prime, Disney etc). So, that will be one of my new year resolutions. The other is to write every day, so for good or bad, you may be hearing more from me!

Happy New Year, everybody, do with it what you can.

Last Tuesday, I went over for the funeral of a very dear friend of mine in the North of England. I had worked with him in the 80s. I blogged earlier in the year, after a visit to Antrim, about how Northern Ireland no longer engaged my feelings of attachment, but I always thought that I would feel at home ‘at home’ so to speak, but no. After thirty years living in Ireland, and attending this funeral in England, I now definitely feel more Irish than English.

Of course, I didn’t really want to be at the funeral of my dear old friend but I was pleased to visit York as I had never been to the city. It was beautiful: narrow cobbled lanes, with fine Georgian and Edwardian architecture and we were lucky to have glorious sunshine. I wandered along the lovely river Ouse, and enjoyed the hues of the autumnal leafy tree lined streets. There were cafes, restaurants, pubs, markets, quality shops, art galleries, museums, and beautifully maintained parks. York is, no doubt, (to steal the strap of my own alma mater) a fine city, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

I went to Patrick’s funeral because he was a very good friend and he was Irish. Obviously, in Ireland, funerals are an important part of the community. However, going was a mistake. I wasn’t part of this English community. Obviously, I knew Patrick’s wife from back in the day, but we were not close. He and his girls had visited us in Ireland when he visited his mother, but they wouldn’t remember as they were too small. He and I met up most times when he came to Ireland (he did the MA in Writing in Limerick in 2015), but generally we met alone and gossiped. Last Thursday, I was pleased to see that the church was full (which the PP commented on) but it felt like a staged production. All the men were dressed formally in suits, and it felt like something out of The Gilded Age. The ‘wake’ after Patrick was cremated was crowded with people nibbling tortilla crisps dipped in chili sauce and avocado, and small roasted green peppers and there was little mixing between the groups of twos and threes. I felt totally out of place and after greeting his wife, I made my excuses and left.

Now, I’m glad to be home for a while.

Still can’t get photos.

Having left Greece, I had a one day turn around in Cavan, and then headed back to the airport to meet Roisin, Jack and granddaughter, Aine, and fly off to Estapone, near Malaga in Spain. After a delayed flight, we headed out into the darkness to eat and were greeted by brilliant coloured flowers, pretty narrow cobbled lanes hanging with bougainvillea and jasmine, and, I want to say ‘succulent’ water features because they almost assaulted the senses as they splashed and sparkled in an array of blues, pinks, yellows and reds. In daylight the old town is as lovely…pots of hanging flowers adorn the white painted houses, and there are gorgeous statues and art scattered around the place and the water features are lovely. The tiles and cobblestones glisten underfoot and this morning, on my morning constitutional, they were filled with children holding hands on their way to school.

From our large, light, spacious (if rather soulless) apartment, the laughter of children outside drifted up from a school playground (a large yard, full of pitches, and painted circles.) In both Spain and Greece, schools are attractive places where the children seem to be cheerful and enjoying themselves, while in Ireland and England they are rather grim, concrete buildings, that look rather like prisons. We could learn from our European colleagues. Anyway, one morning, from our balcony, I watched a class of six year olds play a game where one boy stood in the centre while the others gathered in a circle around him. He performed various actions and they copied him, then he ran off and chased them all. They gathered again in a circle with another child in the middle and then caught sight of me and shouted ola and waved. I waved back. The teacher arrived, so I waved at her too. Then the kids started waving again at me. I scratched my head. They scratched their heads, so I waved both my arms, and they waved both their arms, I clapped, and they clapped. I turned around and so did they. I took a bow and they took a bow…it was such fun!

Estapone is definitely a child centred place. People actually took the time to stop and chat with Aine (though I should say that she is full of the most wonderful smiles which she flashes liberally around the place). There was a fantastic, imaginative playground on the prom aimed at various age groups. And spending Halloween in Estapone was great fun. Everyone (adults too) dressed up and witches and axe heads and monsters milled about the old town streets, going into the shops to trick and treat.

What was also impressive about Estapone was the number of people zooming around in wheelchairs. The prom is a wonderful place to walk; it’s flat, smooth full of gardens and flowers. The old town is more hilly but where there are steps, there are usually ramps too. Pots of flowers and flower bushes run amok, but they are hanging and don’t impede a pram or a wheelchair. It was very easy to get about.

I think chasing dolphins was a favourite part of the holiday. The captain of the boat and his wife were really welcoming. They followed a band of birds flying above the waves and she clicked her tongue and whistled. Suddenly there they were, a flock of dolphins leaping around the boat, playing beneath it, performing synchronised jumps. It was as if they were performing just for us. It was very exciting and truly magical.

Overall, I had a lovely week milling around with my beautiful daughter and Jack, her fiance. I loved the orchid museum full of fantastic flowers and plants but actually, Aine was my favourite part of the holiday…she is a bundle of joy and there is no better tonic than the laugh of a baby.

Still having trouble with photos…its taken me an hour to get three up as the majority of my photos are being saved as HEIC instead of jpeg which means I can’t use them here.

It was still dark at 7am when I walked Poppins early in Swellan last week before our flight to Greece. It was damp, raining and chilly so I was surprised to find the world already up and about. People were out walking, running on the green, even doing exercises under the street lights. Various kitchen lights were on and I could see kids watching cartoons  and parents getting breakfast together. I had completely forgotten the morning routines of family and working life as, while I am an early riser, I do not go out and about. Two hours later, I was in Costa, in Athlone meeting Joe who would take Poppins while we were away, and this time I was watching well dressed men and women having coffee and earnest conversations in twos and threes. They were clearly work colleagues having scheduled meetings and I wondered about their working lives…it is so easy to forget the parameters of the working day when one is retired.

Two hours later, the packed airplane made sense – the majority of people were Irish heading off on holiday with a few Greeks returning from the cold, dreary weather of Ireland and after that thoughts of work, routines, and children disappeared altogether as we touched down six hours later in Athens.

After a gorgeous restorative meal of stuffed tomatoes, peppers, and roast potatoes, cousin Ruth and I put the world to rights with a few bottles of wine, chatting deep into the night about the various afflictions the world finds itself in: Gaza, the Greek elections and new Syriza Leader. If only people would listen to us!

Delicious food and drink were a strong theme during the Greek visit, though we did squeeze in a visit to the new Contemporary Art Gallery in Athens. There were two exhibitions: the first on Sonic Odesseys by Iannis Exenakis which looked and sounded interesting but which I didn’t understand at all and not because it was in Greek. The second was a series of exhibits on Modern Love which while interesting were also a little depressing. However, I liked the design of the gallery itself, which had been an old beer factory and definitely enjoyed lunch at the foot of the Acropolis and for dinner later that evening I had the most succulent lamb shank and mash.

Di Bi and George also fed us delicious lamb when we arrived in Tolo which is in the Peloponnese. We were staying five nights with  my oldest friend, Mandy and her partner, Barry who are now living there and on our first night we went to visit their very good Greek friends, Di Bi and George. We ate outside on their balcony, overlooking the shadows of mountain. Wild dogs were barking in the background, large cats were prowling around our feet, Molly (Mandy’s new pup) was on my lap as we ate and drank having riotous discussions about the SWP and punk rock! Happy out.

Napflios, which is their local town, is a lovely old city (the first capital of Greece). It’s on the sea, has beautiful marble squares, castles, tavernas and a market which, on Saturdays and Wednesdays stretches along the concourse for miles full of grapes, aubergines, colourful peppers, pomegranites, wine, greens, and of course, olives in abundance.

Mandy and Barry were in great form and why wouldn’t they be living their days in sunshine, strolling along beaches, and sipping cocktails, wine and metaxa in tavernas!

Tolo where they live is a small touristy village with a gorgeous beach and an array of restaurants to choose from. It was end of season so we strolled around with ease and I was went swimming every day in the sea. The English are very much in evidence, and Mandy and Barry have made a good number of friends. And all credit to the Greeks for most of them speak excellent English, aside from the one older Greek woman who came and knocked on the door on Sunday morning to complain about our raucous night of drunken laughter the evening before. She didn’t in fact speak English, but she called up her son from downstairs who was able to come and tell Barry in very precise and angry English terms about the noise levels and the bad review that was going to be given by his Airbnb clients next door!

Of course, we all blamed Mandy who, in a loud voice, gets rather voluble after a few drinks. She also sneezes like a trumpet on steroids, likes to dance and, at the point of complaint, was still in bed! Quite rightly, Mandy saw it as a badge of honour to be 64 and still loving life. Debauched and Happy With It…its what she wants written on her grave stone.

Unsurprisingly, Mandy and Barry have many friends who join them in their laughter and metaxa and most of our evenings were passed in a haze of storytelling, gripped  tummies and snorts of explosive laughter. It’s quite a thing to spend time with someone whom you have known and who has known you since your were a baby. It’s like cavorting around the crown of a tree which has grown out of a beanstalk, but the roots of the tree are still apparent.

I have to mention the castles around the Peloponnese which are amazing defensive structures spanning the mountain tops. Barry drove us up to Palamidi in Nafplio. For the most part, they remain in tact and look amazing. The surronding sea is glorious, absolutely clear, warm, with REALLY big fish in the shallows. But best of all was the Tsatziki, Greek salads, and Sword fish served to me on the beach, the ocean lapping on my feet….all I missed was Tom Conti from Shirley Valentine. I started this visit with lamb and I ended it the same way, crunching delicious lamb chops with cousin Ruth  who took us to a meat taverna on the way to Athens Airport. Delicious. Thank you cousin Ruth, and Mandy and Barry for hosting us. I feel like I have been away a month already yet tomorrow, I am off to Spain with Roisin, Jack and baby Aine. Talk about living the dream!

Still having issues with photos. Might have to change this blog from wordpress

The last discoveries to mention include Boules of Cidre de Bretagne (delicious), Noix St Jacques (scallops) really delicious, and the Ile de Batz in blazing heat. During our meanderings across Batz (which is rather like one of the Aran Islands. It has a population of 400 people, two schools, and life is based on agriculture, fishing and tourism), we passed the time of day with an old man with a huge hump on his back, teeth as long as tombstones, and a face ravaged by a sea of wrinkles. He used a walking aid to get on and off the boat and explore the island in 25 degrees of heat. So impressive. He must have been about 90,  and , would you believe, was yet another Englishman who had fallen in love with a French woman and stayed in France, but he struggled more with his memory of English so we discussed the tip of Collie dog tails in French.

Since giving up smoking, my French has somewhat deteriorated as I no longer do Duo Lingo in the porch while having a quick ciggie. While I understand quite a lot, and can certainly get by, I don’t remember certain phrases. When people gabble a sentence or two, I get the gist, but I can’t quite remember how to respond. It’s very irritating. I might have to start Duo Lingo again, but its unfortunate I associate it with smoking.

I have found being in France and not smoking very annoying. I used to love sitting in cafes with a vin blanc cassis or a Ricard and a cigarette and now an important part of my enjoyment is missing. The French smoke in such a natural way…the cigarette belongs between their gnarled finger tips, particularly the men. I always felt very at home smoking in France. And now I can’t!

Finally, Poppins and I have discovered there is rain in Brittany…and its quite wetting…but it’s actually quite nice to sit at home, do a little writing, painting and to have the walk to the patisserie in the afternoon to buy Far de Breton for tea as the main attraction of the day…not to mention the Irish/ Tonga rugby match tonight.

So, after the excitement of the rugby match, the days have slipped into a habit of silvery blue…I now have to make the decision to take a separate path to the village for our baguette instead of my habitual one, the evening swim follows a routine promenade, the aperitif will happen at the witching hour (mind you, that will happen wherever I am), my feet know the curvatures and footholds of the coastal path. The sunsets are familiar, the Casino supermarket is home to me now, the couch has moulded itself to my fit and it is time to get ready to leave.

Yesterday we went to Morlaix to the hyper market, Leclerc, to buy the wine and goods to bring home. It was scary…not just negotiating the car park but the shop itself. It was huge, the size of two Rugby pitches. But with grim determination and courage, we advanced on each aisle at a time, ending at the wine. I found some Armagnac, and Champagne for Roisin and Jack’s engagement celebration on our return and fifteen bottles of wine. We will complete our purchases today in our local Casino, happily buying our favourite wine bottles, the right brand of gateau de riz and chocolate puds and I won’t be too embarrassed at the bottles clanking in the trolley and at the till because, well, because another fifteen bottles isn’t too much…is it? I think it will be a pleasurable experience, unlike Leclerc yesterday. After asking, the Lerclec Cashier refused to find us boxes for the wine, then with disaproval pointed to the sign that only 15 items were allowed at this till after she had processed 15 bottles, and then, when there was no label on the anchovies I had picked up, refused to continue until I returned to put them back where I found them. When I asked where in this mad house I had found them, she performed the perfect French shrug! It was quite a stand off…with the queue getting longer. The poor man behind us only had a baguette. Until then I hadn’t come across any of the usual French disdain for foreigners, so in a way, it was a relief to discover not everything has changed!

Yes, it is the end of our Brittany Days. I have loved our near month in Carantec. On Friday we get the overnight ferry back to Cork, stay overnight in Limerick with Joe, and next week, I will be in Dublin with my daughter and granddaughter who, in my absence has started to crawl. So, I have lots of silver linings…not to mention going to Greece to see my oldest friend, Mandy in mid October!!!

Tuesday 12 September.

We have made quite a few delightful discoveries during our Brittany days. Discovery of places which are quite simply ‘practically perfect’ and ‘happenings’ are ‘kindnesses’ that make a day special.

When Ellen and Lesley were with us, we went to market in Morlaix. The ‘clothes and clutter’ market stretches along the bottom of the gorge from which the town rises – very steeply may I add. I would not want to have to walk up too far. The food and veg market is in the handsome Allende Square which was built by the merchants of the 16^th century. Jerry and I went exploring there early in our Brittany Days. The four of us wandered around both markets, had a coffee in a café. The plan had been to walk Poppins in the woods on the way home and have a pizza lunch in the nice café in the pretty village of Loquenole but it was a hot day, and we decided to skip the walk in favour of lunch. It was the mention of Pizza that ruined Poppin’s walk in the wood. Unfortunately, the café was closed but the owner to whom Jerry and I had been chatting earlier in the week, came out, explained he had to shut today but offered to serve us drinks before he left. We explained we had come for lunch so he let us into the closed épicerie, let us buy the wherewithal for a picnic, and because he had no bread, gave us bread from his kitchen and let us eat and drink at his tables outside, asking us to stack the dishes and leave them outside the door. Such a kindness.

Also, in the village of Loquenole is a beautiful Oak Tree of which the village is very proud. They call it the Liberty Tree. It was planted at the time of the French Revolution to mark the event, along with a hundred others throughout the country, and it is the only one left alive. The village takes very good care of it. Of course, we had to pose in revolutionary stances…

This week, Jerry and I were exploring the adjoining peninsula with the main town of Plougasnou at its centre. We drove to the Pointe de Primel Tregastel and climbed the rock there. It was absolutely beautiful. Our discovery was that the peninsula is different to the Carantec one. It is greener, steeper and more mountainous. There are less sandy coves, more rocky ones and it feels less populated. The tiny villages are probably more touristy, but there are fewer of them. Again, a fabulous camp site. A walking holiday around these peninsulas would be wonderful.

We also went further South to the next ‘pointe’, Maison de la Pointe. This side is very flat, lots of agriculture, with miles of hot beach separated from a forest/green area by wonderful sand dunes (impossible to walk in, even with a brand new titanium hip). But, of course, the French have developed various walking paths through the green areas and woods where lovely houses sprout out of the trees. It reminded me of Jurmala, Latvia, except the paths were better and so well maintained.

By the way, Lesley showed me a brand new app called ‘outdooractive’ which identifies and/or tracks the paths you can take in whatever region/area you are in. It’s brilliant.

So this app and the coastal walks, peninsula paths, and the forest chemins are a wonderful discovery in Brittany and it is these I think that will bring me back (aside from the wine and cheese). They are all along each peninsula, little dotted lines that curve around the cliff tops, through the pine trees, along the beaches. Yesterday, I left Jerry to read in the shade of the pines while I went with Poppins for a walk. Across the bay, I could see the long beach that Ellen, myself and Lesley had walked along last Friday at the start of our coastal walk on the Carantec peninsula.

We also visited the Cairn de Barnenez…a gigantic megalithic tomb on a number of levels. It’s pitched at the top of hill and when it was built it was on top a plain…not the sea. I think, once you seen one megalithic tomb, you’ve seen them all…but this one was rather splendid.

Another discovery are the steeples on the churches hereabout. They are distinctive in that they are structures as opposed to solid points. We were wondering about that. Jerry thought that they were Moorish looking…and he was right. We discovered yesterday that the Moors invaded this coast line sometime between 15^th and 17^th century…I can’t remember when exactly. Anyway, these steeples are much more interesting that the squat Norman ones or pointy Catholic ones. 

Two other discoveries…the starry nights when the sky is clear are fantastic. The other night the night sky blossomed with stars. It was as if they were falling out of the darkness. The plough was so close, I felt I could reach out and touch it. I haven’t seen a sky like that since we lived in Drumbriste in rural Cavan. There was also a party going on in the port. At 1.30am they were playing loud music and dancing under the starry night. I really felt like I was missing out.

And finally, so far, the military jets! The noise they make as the roar around the bay. They look like black angry mosquitos…flat, sharp and full of angles. They do their military manoeuvres in the late afternoon, often while I’m on the beach. It’s odd to be floating on the waves or snoozing on the sand when suddenly a slow rumble starts and grows and two, always two, black aircraft zoom across, round and round…as if little God boys were playing in the sky.

I’ll let you know when we make new discoveries…until then, I think I’m happy indulging in the old ones: it’s lunch in Kelenn today after a walk, reading my book which I haven’t done much of and then an early evening swim followed by a lovely aperitif. Salut!

Still having pic issues…

Monday 11 of September

Gosh…that is a date that changed our lives. It seems quite innocent when you write it like that. But on my watch, it is written 9/11, and looks and sounds ferocious. Let’s hope today is more benign. The earthquake in Morocco is sad enough.

Our second lot of friends, Ellen and Lesley (another Lesley) left yesterday. We had a lovely weekend of coastal walks, drink, markets, drinks, beaches, drinks and a delicious fish and drinks at the other port restaurant at the bottom of our road. We met Sasha, Ian and Lucette over drinks in our favourite café on Beach Kelenn after a lovely hike and Ellen had extensive Rugby discussions with wine ‘advisor’ in the local Casino supermarket. (I was very pleased about the Irish/Romania match 82/8!) Sasha is the manager of the restaurant at the bottom of our road who  squeezed us in last minute on Saturday night for more lovely fish and drinks. Sadly, after our chat with Ian and Lucette at the next table, (they met thirty years ago when Ian came from England to Paris to do a French speaking course, and now have three shiatzus) went back home to Paris. I hope it wasn’t having to listen to Ellen’s appalling French that made them leave. Anyhow, we had a great weekend full of craic, lots of laughs and we even danced the night away on Friday.

Yesterday, after dropping them off at the Ferry, I watched them sail away from the beach at the tip of the Periharidi point while eating a breakfast slice of the delicious home-made apricot, apple and pecan loaf that Lesley had brought with her. Because it was so early, we let Poppins go mad in the sand dunes chasing whatever creatures she dreams up in her head, and we gazed into the distance…the low tide was far far away and it seemed so still, so blue, so quiet, so peaceful. Then a lone fisherman arrived and a man with three dogs, then a couple came walking, and Sunday in France began. We went in search of a boulangerie for our daily bread and took our picnic to Santec beach where we ate and watched at least 600 people doing a sponsored walk/run for the catholic church. Santec beach is a long wide plage and behind is a lovely small forest, so Poppins and I meandered around, ending up in a beautiful campsite…if anyone enjoys camping…do go here. We ended the day on our own beach back in Carantec, swimming and watching the locals at play and finishing the pot au fer that I had cooked specially for the women which I have to say was absolutely delicious…never mind that Ellen won’t eat anything with carrots or meat. I had thought it was  Poppins and Tomatoes she didn’t like but apparently, she loves them and goats cheese and cider and our fridge is now full of both. I’m not keen on either!

Still having pic issues!