My new bedroom is running with water...well, it's dried up a bit today but last night it was definitely soggy, though thankfully not mild enough for those great green slugs which ooze down the walls...I suppose they must hibernate when it's cold.
It's funny how certain words and phrases become common usage in a family and probably have little or no meaning to outsiders...since that bloke decided last week that the back lobby would make me an ideal bedroom we've referred to it as...my bedroom...or in Himselfs case 'cos he isn't having a new bedroom or an en-suite shower room...your bedroom.
When one son came to stay and decided Ireland had the 'wrong kind of fish' we told Teresa...now when she and Reuben are staying we'll peer thoughtfully into rivers and Loughs and shake our heads sorrowfully...no good...wrong kind of fish. Quite what casual passersby think when they overhear I have no idea...
I think fishing is cruel actually...having a bit of sharp wire jammed into your lip must be downright painful and then get tossed back into the water after you've been gasping for air while some eejit takes your photograph...only to be fooled again with a tasty tid-bit by another fisherman the following week...
And poking sharp wire through a worms middle isn't very nice either...Jack and Alex go fishing and often have their pockets full of worms they've collected for bait...maybe fishermen are reliving their childhood days when they too had a pocket of worms and were encouraged to stab them through their middles...
Don't like seeing boats full of squirming fish much...when I was on holidays some years ago in Cornwall we went mackerel fishing...positively revolting to be sitting on a sodden wet narrow bench in a very small boat while two hearty men chucked hundreds of slithery fish at my feet...
One of the coastal villages here has shark fishing trips...can't imagine a nastier way to spend the day than hauling on a bendy rod with a feckin shark leaping about all over the place desperate to get back in the water...
Shooting animals is another 'sport' I've never quite grasped...where's the skill in using a high powered rifle with telescopic sights to kill an animal that doesn't even know you are there...and as for posing with a daft grin on your face with a limp blood stained lion propped up beside you for the obligatory photo...words fail me.
When we lived in France we had a cottage right beside a forest where wild boar lived...they were hunted on horseback by tough chaps who ran them down...the chief hunter carried a horn which he blew at the beginning of the hunt...another set of notes for when they'd had a kill and another to tell the locals it was safe to go back into the forest...that was done to keep the boar population under control and they were brought home and eaten...
But you can't really eat a lion...
We don't have fox-hunting in the west of Ireland thank goodness...the fields are too small and the stone walls too dangerous for expensive horses to be leaping over...but wild fowl hunting is popular and so is hare-coursing...it's illegal...the hare coursing...but it doesn't stop people from doing it.
We don't have jugged hare for supper tonight...my English Granny used to make that...Himself has leftover stew from yesterday...don't know what delights he'll dream up for me...it won't be mackerel.