I’m Liking Liverpool!

Smile! Well, you have to really, for in Liverpool’s beautiful Georgian streets, with their gorgeous iron balustrades, and perfectly proportioned windows, dental and beauty treatments were the order of the day. As we wandered around the city, it became obvious that we were in the capital of dentistry. I began to study the mouths and shape of the Liverpudlian faces but I didn’t notice any particularly fine dental features…but then it was hard to distinguish the locals from the tourists, the latter of which there were many in full flow.

As I approach my 70s, I am prioritizing my travel destinations for sustainable reasons (both my own and the world’s) and Liverpool was the first place on my bucket list of cities and countries to see. I wasn’t disappointed. It is a fabulous city: small, eclectic, beautiful, full of museums, water, good restaurants and pubs. Modern sheet glass, reflective buildings stand cheek by jowl with fabulous ornate 18^th century town halls, exotic 19^th century buildings like the Liver building and fabulous flowing concrete designs such as the Liverpool museum. Sadly, the Slavery and Tate Liverpool were closed for refurbishment and The Cavern and Liver Building were too crowded and noisy to explore, so this will mean a return visit at a quieter time of year. However, we had lovely weather, so it was a joy to explore the various water Docks along the Mersey, and watch the swimmers in Queen’s Dock doing laps. A swim will feature on my next visit.

I loved the bustle of the busy thoroughfares, like the pedestrianized Bold St where there are many exotic restaurants to be sampled (another reason to return) and was suitably amazed at the extensive concrete shopping centre which seemed to go every which way, but I preferred ambling through the quieter lanes and alleys finding strange looking pubs (the Bridewell) on odd street corners. We spent happy hours at the retro indoor market at Cain’s building and I loved sitting outside the Black Cat Club with an strange looking Tequila Sunrise (they used rose syrup instead of Grenadine) staring at the Town Hall remembering Derek Hatton issuing redundancy notices to the council staff by taxi in the 1980s when I was working as a Labour press officer in regional local government (that was a hard one to justify!)

I had a brilliant weekend in Liverpool. It was well worth the carbon footprint and airport drudge. But I want to thank Joe, my son, who was an excellent street guide and so ably steered me to the best of pubs, clubs where we sampled Italian and Middle Eastern food to die for and bring life to the first of the bucket list!

A Family Holiday on the Beara Peninsula

Storm Dave leapt across the windscreen wipers as we left Labasheeda on Easter Saturday, heading to Allihies, West Cork. At Killimer, the Estuary bobbed about, tossing grey splashes of water high into the sky, while we queued to get on the Ferry to Tarbet. Roisin, Jack, Aine and Aoibhin joined us three cars behind. I waved through the window…not wanting to get out and blown into the sea. The boat pulled in, we drove on and we were away, off on our holiyers for a week. On the other side, we agreed to stop in Kenmare. Wow, what a pretty town, colourful shop fronts, hanging baskets, picket fences. Even Storm Dave couldn’t cloak its charm. We dived into a very crowded restaurant and having shovelled burgers and chips in as holiday nourishment, we got back into the cars and set off in convoy around the Beara peninsula.

Peaked mountains of a golden green hue rose around us, jagged rocks, and hair pin bends rose into the dark skies. The clutch on our car is not in best shape, and our lovely Avensis shuddered her way up and down through the Kerry squalls. Then as we crossed into Cork, a glorious blue blossomed out of the grey watery sky. Sunshine filtered through behind the clouds and a turquoise ocean spread itself before us, glinting and winking in the sun. Just like that.

Our Airbnb was large with, when the weather allowed, lovely views of the jagged points of the Skelligs. There was great space for us and the dogs (Poppins and Alfie) and that evening, we cooked a big shepherds pie, took turns to try and feed some to Aoibhin who actually prefers a slurp from the boob, read Aine books, enjoyed a bottle of wine and retired to sleep.

The next day, Roisin, the girls, the dogs and I headed down the lamb laden road (aahhh) to the beach to fly the kite. For the first time, I was successful at kite flying (the wind helped – it whipped the kite out of my hands and tore it into the sky). Unfortunately, my excited squeals led Poppins to believe that she needed to protect me from this accursed enemy. She started jumping up, tearing lumps out of my coat to try and get the kite. The wind took advantage of the distraction and swept the kite back down to attack my head from every squally direction. Roisin watched with great glee and amusement.

On our return, we decided to repare to O’Neils bar and restaurant…which is where we found ourselves often during the holiday because…well, because they have great music and they do a great Sri Lankan chicken curry. As Joe said, when he joined us there later, ‘it’s great going on rainy holidays with small kids as we seem to spend a lot of time in the pub!’

Actually, we did get some lovely weather and Joe had to pay penance for his smart comment by playing with Aine on the beach, chasing waves and filling buckets full of sea water while Roisin and Jack were in Sunset Sauna and I was watching the dogs and Aoibhin. At the end, Aine’s tights, dress and jumper were dripping wet as were his trousers up to his knees! I think its called Uncle Care.

On the Wednesday we took the cable car across blue skies and seas to Dursey Island where we meandered through the village. Joe and I abandoned the family ship and headed into the mountain top for a proper walk and picnic. The next day, we all got a fabulous afternoon walk with the kids when we went to visit Dunboy Castle. What an amazing place. Aine and I loved playing among the castle ruins. We also had a fascinating wander around the Buddhist Temple perched on the edge of the mountain, and had tea in their lovely garden outside, soaking up the rays. One rainy day, we visited the tin mine museum in Allihies and climbed up to the tin mine in a big, heavy damp moist cloud which in itself was rather beautiful and everywhere we went, rain or sun, we had lovely chowder, mussels, fish and chips, (particularly in Castletownbere) but always, we repaired back to the lovely Sri Lankan chicken curry in O’Neils!

It was a fab holiday: great scenery, good games, and interesting chat…particularly about the fuel blockades. And it was nice too to come back (just had enough petrol) to the peace and quiet of Labasheeda, and of course, the crows who welcomed us with a lovely loud chorus of caws.

The Joker takes over from The Pioneers

Many moons ago, I studied American History, Literature, and Politics at University. One of the first books I read was The Pioneers by James Fenimore Cooper. The book delves into the complexities of ownership and identity and portrays the tension between civilization and wilderness. It gave me my first understanding of the importance of an agreed set of laws by which a society or community can exist, both on a personal and community level. Relationships need agreed rules. Families need agreed rules. Without laws, courts, or a system of justice, there can be little common order.

I don’t know why I am shocked about Trump going into Venezuela…the US has a long legacy of bully boy politics (Korea, Vietnam, Cuba, Nicaragua, Afghanistan to name a few) but I guess it is because it is the first time that the US has taken over the actual running of another country without the approval of Congress. This and the fact that Trump and his cohort since his election have had so little regard for the law, both domestic and international makes this particular incursion particularly scary. What will they do next?

Trump has threatened to take over Greenland, Nigeria, even Canada. He has undermined international agreements. He has monetarized war, wanting to develop the Gaza strip and mine Ukraine’s minerals. Yet no one seems to know how to respond to his irrational and often illegal actions. It reminds me of Germany’s response to Hitler during the thirties. It seems to me that World Leaders don’t want to face up to the fact that Trump is not the pretence of The Joker but a real irrational narcissist who will destroy the basic tenets of our society on Earth.

The Rose Garden

It’s a watery New year’s Day morning: the estuary is enveloped in yellow, grey and green mist as the sun comes up and fingers the water. The raindrops on the windows smear the views of Glin across the way. It is very quiet for Labasheeda. Not even a tractor wheel to be heard tearing around the corner.

It’s the start of a new year. Given the wars and populist protests of 2025, it’s hard to imagine what 2026 might bring other than more anger, anxiety, and poverty. All across the world, countries and people seem to be either spiraling out of control, going up in smoke or getting buried in landslides, earthquakes, tsunamis. Every page I turn, or wavelength I tune into brings death and despair until I look up and remember to smell the roses, literally.

Last summer, in my new garden, I planted rose bushes, buying most of them from the Vandaleur Garden in Kilrush. Vandaleur is a favourite place of mine. One of my roses has flowered gorgeous pink flowers until now. So, this Christmas, I decided to decorate my lovely new home with vases of roses, yellow, pink, red, white and they give me real pleasure, when I look up and see them.

This year, I had a wonderful Christmas, shared between Miltown and Labasheeda with Roisin and Jack, Joe, Jerry, and my little scamps, Aine, and the baby, Aiobhin. (She is a dote) They are my granddaughters and they bring me such joy. How I love to wrestle and tickle, hide and seek, read and tell endless stories, rock and soothe. They are my roses who physically prod me, shout for my attention, demand to make me happy.

Neighbours and new friends also came to visit this Christmas, bringing wine, chocolates, with tales of Estuary swimming, fishing expeditions, house renovations, and new Labasheeda projects. And we got invited to visit their homes too to hear about their children, jobs, life stories. I have never felt so welcomed in a place as I have here in Clare. Labasheeda is not only a bed of silk, but a bed of roses.

Last night Jerry and I brought in 2026 with Jools Holland, as we usually do. I noticed that the audience is getting older and dare I say it, a little more ragged. Indeed, there were two old university friends having the craic with Jools. It was the usual banter around resolutions and predictions. However, no one dared predict what might happen in 2026 and few had New Year resolutions. I have though. My plan is to look up and smell the roses, wherever they are and whatever shape they take. I am fortunate enough to have planted myself in a rose garden.

May all your own rose gardens blossom!

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!