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.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.