I did a bit of languishing yesterday...seeing as there were times during the course of the day when I doubted I'd ever breath again...Himself brought me cherry ice-cream and tinned peaches...then I had two of those sort of pancake things laden down with butter. And a hot water bottle.
Felt much better this morning especially as the sun was shining and the birds were singing their little hearts out...apart from the sparrows, who don't sing...they twitter tunelessly.
So we went to the supermarket and it turned bitterly cold and poured with rain. Didn't see anyone I knew...and there wasn't the usual assortment of odd-bods to amuse me either...
The small bridge over the new by- pass has opened and there's tarmac on the by-pass road and all the fences are in place...now I can see the ring fort properly 'cos the bridge pasts really close to it...it's the ring fort Himself wouldn't let me stop at when the 'dig' was going on...I even made him apple pie and bought a carton of cream and he still wouldn't stop...
They found some amber beads there and I'd have loved to have seen those...there's plenty enough in the museum in Dublin of course but I'd have liked to have seen them before they were cleaned up...and there was a small heap of pottery shards and one of those rather ornate pins or clasps to hold a cloak in place...hope they aren't in a cardboard box in the basement.
I've found from past experience that the archaeologists and their teams don't mind in the slightest bit if you ask nicely and don't get in the way...Himself is an unsociable old bugger sometimes though and would have stayed in the car and glowered, apple pie or not.
He's better about trawling round graveyards now I must admit...there was a time when he was so awkward about stopping at remote and out of the way burial grounds that I used to be quite cross. But he doesn't mind collecting the old bones and skulls that have come to the surface and re-burying them...it'd look odd if someone were to see but that can't be helped. And we've never met another living soul yet in all the places we've visited...a cat hunting voles and field mice sometimes...but no humans.
While staying with a friend who lives high in the Ox mountains, I'd been to a ruined abbey one day and found the most gorgeous glass bottle...it's very thick uneven glass and must have had a cork stopper at some time. Literally just lying on the grass near the surrounding wall...so I took it. And met the village priest on the way back...couldn't actually hide it anywhere, so I brazened it out and showed him what I'd found and he said there used to be dozens just like that but they'd gradually gone and whoever would be wanting such a thing...
They were used...according to Father Tommy anyway...to put Whiskey in when there was a burial...I doubt he was right though 'cos most Whiskey came in earthenware casks...and it's only just dawned on me that I can look it up because it has the makers name on it.
So I will...look it up on the net and see if anything results.
I liked Father Tommy...he rattled about in a great big house and didn't have a housekeeper or a cook so the place was a total tip...stacks of books on the floor in the sitting room and a fat cat on every chair in the place shedding copious amounts of fur...he used to write to the Bishop on a regular basis and say he wanted a small bungalow please and the house to be used for something worthy and sensible and the Bishop would tut tut and say perhaps one day...
Father Tommy swore as well...actually he swore a great deal about all manner of things...mostly the Bishop not agreeing to him having a bungalow...I learned early on not to accept a cup of coffee unless I made it...it would arrive in an unwashed mug with cat hair floating on the top and he always put at least four teaspoonfuls of sugar in...will you be taking a coffee Sue, he'd say, and I'd leap out of my chair and send a cat flying from my lap and make a hasty dash for the kitchen...
He was a law to himself was Father Tommy and I liked that about him.