things by the sea

Back from a slow walk along Church Strand, picking up seashells, and seaglass - in shades of icy blue and fertile greens. The glass-pebbles glitter like fine frost in sunlight, their once-sharp edges smoothed to soft curves. I remember reading that they're sometimes called Mermaids' Tears. How pretty is that.

And apart from shells and glass, there were also lovely lichens along the way.



Tonight's the pre-Wooden Boat Festival pub quiz - supernerdy nautical. Yes, many naive quiz-goers learned that lesson last year...

Digger Mania

Forget the Beacon, forget Lough Hyne (however you spell it), the place to be on a sunny afternoon is pierside, watching the diggers. For your viewing pleasure, there are two projects that you can alternate between: the new Slipway (which only gets worked on at low tide) and the Smushing Up of the Wrecks (which also pauses occasionally - for example, when they realise that they haven't thought to put any protective barrier around the smushing area, and there's bits of boat drifting off to become Area Rubbish).

Locally, it's all the rage, but there was surprise when the Smushing digger attraction featured on the news last night - both the 6pm and the 9pm - in the midst of reports on worldwide calamities and rising death tolls. This afternoon in Bushes, discussion of the interviews was... colourful.

I passed by on Sunday, made my way between the parked cars filled with people, watching the work in progress as though it was a sunset. And in a way, I guess it was...

Things to do

Well today's just been Make & Do Central.

The change in season has me thinking it's time for a new website layout, which means hours of palettes and patterns and searches for images of nice thick laid paper. And there's tidying up a screenplay (at long last), and working on its accompanying cover letter, and other kinds of makey-doey things: knitting a sweater, morning yoga, whipping up a great tomato & basil soup, picking bunches of sweet pea (whose just-rained-on scent is infusing the house), running on the hamster wheel, making a purdy thank you card for a friend, oh and those coffee canisters I've been contributing for the photo project - turns out they're not accepted as donations, but are bartered for a fabulous selection of salad leaves - ah, lunch was all treaty crispiness...

...and then there's series 5 of The Closer.

All in all, a fine day.

The Glebe

For visitors, for locals, The Glebe has to be the most treaty spot for a lazy breakfast.

The place would need a whole series of posts to do justice to the gardens (twenty years a'growing), the vitality of the planting, the wholesomeness of the setting, the myriad blooms overflowing with apparent effortlessness.

Of course, our primary purpose was (utterly scrumptious) food. There's an easy feel to the courtyard cafe: sit out and enjoy a sunshiney breakfast, while various tame and wild creatures wander through (a robin frequented our table to check out any crumbs - we were like, soooooo Francis of Assisi).

And due to our intent focus on food, cameras were not taken out until we were well sated, strolling through the gardens...



A regular haunt for the summer, I suspect :-)

Tell-Tale Signs

Ah, sailing. I am so hooked.

So, Sunday Post-Play, my treat was to take a boat trip out to Heir/Hare/Hejer Island (okay I made one of those up). And off we set across Roaringwater Bay. Along the way we pass the rocks called The Two Women, the local equivalent of a scold's bridle - just take the uppity woman out and leave her on the rocks overnight; she'll have quietened down in the morning. Ah, wouldn't it fill you with nostalgia for days of yore...

The passengers were offered a chance at the wheel, steering this gorgeous 50-foot yacht on the open water. When it was my turn, I asked for simple instructions: Left. Right. Big bit. Little bit. Skipper kept it basic: "Aim for the pink house on that island... aim for the rust shed on that other island," and off I went, very happy indeed.

We heard a rib coming up behind us: it had two men, one pointing a camera. "The paparazzi", a crewmember says. "She's here!!" shouts Skipper, pointing to me, "the famous star!"

Anyhoo, then he taught me to trim sails, and tack (and when Mr Crewman went to tighten my work, he couldn't; "She's as strong as you!" exclaims Skipper), and I spent the trip calling "Tack Alert Tack Alert!" and zipping from one side of the boat to the other. At one point, I wondered if all this tacking was really necessary, if Skipper might be just tricking me...

Anyhoo, we saw seals, and swans, and meandered out to Hare. Chocolate cake & coffee (along with some almighty slagging between me and the crew). Then a walk on the island, which not only has the cleanest calves ever, but also has a gallery, with printed evidence of why we love West Cork.



And then homewards: more seals, tacking and trimming galore, and then I was recalled to the wheel as Baltimore came into view. And I took the... ahem... shiny expensive yacht right in to dock. Without a scratch :-)



I finished up the Heritage Festival sitting outside Bushe's, catching up with friends. People kept stopping, saying that we should do the play through the summer. And they moved on, our laughter echoing in their ears. (Actually, sweet moments dotted over the weekend, as various children raced up to me, stopped momentarily to deliver the line "I thought you were brilliant in the play" then raced on again while I was still thanking them). Anyway, sitting outside Bushes, all the tiredness of the week caught up with me, and I flumped. And a man left our table, and as he walked away I noticed he reached into a brown paper bag and I murmured longingly, 'Oh, he's eating chips...'

And lo, the gods in their benevolence didst smile down upon me. For the departing chips were the final portions from the Last Stop Chipper, and their manager ran after the guy and presented me with the bag, which was duly opened out on the table.** Thick and warm and crispy and perfect.

A perfect end to the weekend :-)
_____

** Okay there was a single member of the table who did not partake, for the sole reason of retaining the moral high ground while he formulated nefarious rumours that I had literally stolen the food out of another's mouth. Moi?? Surely non!

Just checking in...

Weeks like this, I wish I was all set up with twitpic and mobile blogging and knew every function of Dial2Do inside and out. For it's been a colourful, surreal few days, and I shall have probably have to wait for the dust to settle before I can do justice to it in words and pictures.

But in brief: there's an article on the pirate play in today's Examiner; the craftey market is setting up down on the pier as I type, so I'm shortly off to learn about lobster pots and more. And there's a fabulous, soulful man in town called Brother Anthony Keane, Forester of Glenstal Abbey, who will be speaking on the restoration of the Ilen. Promises to be a treaty afternoon.

And then Piracy. And then life Post-Piracy. Happy sigh.

Walk of Shame

Bank Holiday Monday, it was all go in Baltimore! Most of the InstaSailingCrowd had disappeared, and the afternoon of blazing sunshine brought everyone out to catch up, enjoy a Bulmer's in the square, or do something a smidge more energetic.

From the cool of Bushes, I watched elegant currachs approaching across the bay. They were part of a sponsored row from Schull to Baltimore (and appropriately enough, a rower from the Irish Olympic team was also watching their approach, approvingly). Star of the show was one of our ferrymen, who abandoned mechanised transport and took up oars, and made excellent time.

The other event was the RNLI walk, to raise money for the local lifeboats. The route (which stretched out to Lough Oighin) was five miles, with an optional extra four miles. Or, if you cheated - yes, cheated, on a charity walk - it was probably a smidge under nine miles. Because it turns out that one of the walkers decided to off-road and cut through a field, thinking no-one would notice. But oh, phone calls were made. News reached Bushes in seconds, and within minutes the Route Map was duly altered to mark the shameful shortcut.

And if that wasn't enough, someone who er... happened to have her laptop with her, and too much time on her hands, did up some little road signs (yes, downloading the Irish Road Sign font and all). And this morning, a cohort laminated said signs, and put them up as a lesson to all Would Be Cheaters out there. Naughty naughty.



AND the other thing that happened yesterday was that I got to meet the fabulous lobster pot maker (who it turned out, I already knew). And he (wait for it) said that I could help make such a pot at the Heritage Festival this weekend!! All praise...

Toasted Secrets

There was an article in yesterday's Times: April 2010, a fly-on-the-wall glimpse of the Weekly Crisis Meeting. In attendance are the Taoiseach, Minister for Finance, various Ministers and the German ambassador.

German Ambassador

What did we say again?

Attorney General
It was €20 billion Herr Ambassador. In return, you get west Cork, including fixtures, fittings and Bushe's Bar in Baltimore.
But, as requested, we have excluded the county hurling team.

German Ambassador (smiling)
Ah Bushe's. So many happy memories. Angela - sorry, Chancellor Merkle - is very fond of their toasted special sandwiches. I do hope that they will still be allowed sell them under German licensing laws . . .

Perfect moment yesterday evening, as the paper was passed down the bar, and discussion turned from the printed article to the secret of those special toasties...