Goodness...what a quiet day!
I've been doing nothing much at all...some washing...which is now drying on the Sheila Maid as it'd be pointless to hang it outside and we don't have a dryer thingy 'cos of the expense to run it. Used to have one mind you...but it'd take feckin' hours to dry the clothes and I'd keep forgetting to clean all the fluff out and then it'd smell a bit sort of hot...
The most exciting happening was Hubert-next-door telling Himself there was someone wandering about outside our cottage at one in the morning...with a torch. Hubert had come home from work when he saw a wavering torchlight in front of our sitting-room...personally I think it was Paddy who does tend to roam around at night. He has that horrid sleep apnoea and although he has a machine, he sometimes doesn't go to bed until very late. But Himself paid heed to what Hubert said and made sure the back door was wasn't until I went out through the front door that I realised that hadn't been locked at all...
It's funny really 'cos none of us in the street ever bothered two hoots about leaving doors and windows open until the awful Travellers from Dublin moved onto the estate in we batten down the hatches and have sheds locked and bolted...most of us have warning signs about our dogs as well...not that any of them would actually bite you understand...apart from Otto. He'd eat you, never mind bite.
There are only certain people Bobby doesn't like...he doesn't mind the Travellers who go from door to door asking for scrap metal...wags his tail when they call...but he loathes one of the boys next door the other side and leaps at the gate with his teeth bared...not a pretty sight.
I like the Travellers who call actually...they often come from Donegal or Mayo and have the softest lilting accent that I could listen to for ages...and they are polite and pleasant. Those who moved to the estate in town are a different sort altogether...seriously rough and ready and awful dirty and ill-kempt, the children shop-lift...the men fight...the women are rather scary. Hard embittered faces with greasy hair pulled back tightly in a pony tail, they are probably still young enough but look old far beyond their years. They wear broken down men's shoes and holey jumpers and speak harshly to their numerous children.
Tina cannot abide them...she'll stand close to me when a gaggle of them walk past in the supermarket and mutter about those dirty lot...Tina is very short and extremely fat...she always looks as though she's just that minute stepped out of a bath and her clothes are are all her children and grandchildren. It can't be very nice for her and her family to be lumped into the category of Travellers with those who are so rough and ready.
There's always been an on-going discussion as to where the Travellers or Gypsies of Tina's relatives could quite easily pass for an Indian woman from the sub-continent...she has a rather haughty face...high cheekbones I'd happily kill for, and a swarthy complexion. And she speaks rapidly in patois and I can't understand a single word...I look helplessly at Tina and she translates as best she can...
Paddy the farrier is coming next week to trim the donkeys hooves...we have them done about every three months or so. They are all well-behaved now and stand quietly while Paddy rasps and cleans and cuts bits off...then the dogs go quite bananas for the bits of hoof he cuts off...they love them and gnaw away with delight...I think it's a revolting habit personally.
It's not too bad when the clippings are fresh...but when they've been lurking under the straw for weeks...sort of festering...yuck.