A quiet sort of a day...the couple who would like Henry and Christy came this morning to meet them...they're very nice people. Driving an exceedingly expensive brand new car...not that the car they drive has anything to do with it of course...just saying.
They're going to buy a field shelter and then they'll be collecting them sometime next week...
And just a fleeting thought...referring to a donkey as an 'ass' is frowned upon...ass implies a stupid sort of an animal and donkeys are anything but...it's on a par with calling a Traveller a 'Pikey'...rather rude and uncalled for.
So Himself was occupied for most of the morning with demonstrating how to hand feed a donkey with a carrot without losing most of your fingers in the process and I put a second coat of paint on the dismantled shelves from my shed...
It's been cold today so even though I'm itching to plant the bathtub up I was sensible and stayed indoors out of the wind...the Blackthorn is in blossom and the weather does tend to become chilly while it's in flower...Blackthorn Winter it's known as.
Meditation is a potty idea in this cottage...when Eilis stops barking at imaginary mad axemen she's snoring like some old bloke in his armchair...and then Claire walks past with her cows who lean over our garden wall and dribble copiously...Jamie races by on his friends quad bike, waving like an eejit ...then he turns round at the top of the road and races back again...the 'phone rings...the Traveller girls walk past pushing various small people in pushchairs and flashing vast amounts of flesh...Bobby is hell bent on eating the postman and Millie keeps dropping her ball on my feet wanting me to throw it for her...
And that's without Himself wanting to know if I've seen the little yellow screwdriver anywhere...as if I'd know...and would I 'phone Martin about some hay and then he hurls a bucket of coal onto the range for good measure...and riddles the bottom which makes an horrendous noise.
Practice meditation says Maria the physio...it can be very helpful she says...
I'm away to stuff chicken fillets with garlic and vast amounts of butter...the photograph is of a frock found in an Irish bog in the early 1800's...it dates from the fifteenth/ sixteenth century.