Temple stroll

Some pictures from the other evening, when I sauntered from the Temple area over to Fleet Street, enjoying a lovely mix of architectural styles that spanned centuries, linked by narrow cobbled lanes.

As wind vanes go, this ship was particularly striking: pointing out to the river, glinting in the evening sunlight.



"We are never so much disposed to quarrel with others as when we are dissatisfied with ourselves." — William Hazlitt

The week beginneth

I'm back on Irish time now, after indulging in the spirit of the UK's Bank Holiday weekend :-)

Well, the goldfish are missing their house guest, who is back in London, safe and sound. And while you can still catch the lingering maple-syruppy scrumminess of this morning's pancakes, the lovely lady is most certainly gone. Little sigh.

The weekend was a classic mix for us: lazy breakfasts and old buildings and plants and purdy stained glass and conversations over wine and bemusing encounters with every eccentric within a twenty-mile radius (I swear, it's like we're drawn along ley lines straight to the quirky folk). Anyhoo, a lovely weekend.

One stop along our travels was the Wishing Tree, which stands sentinel over a holy well (supposed to be good for eyesight). Actually, the tree is 'trees', at least two. On first sight, it was a bit Blair Witchey for me, but I was soon won over. It's festooned with all kinds of things and mementos: ribbons, stones, crystals, coins, a Pink Floyd cassette...



Luckily, I always have ribbon on hand for such occasions :-)

Retracings

This sunshiney afternoon, I dropped by the place I lived when I first came to West Cork. It was probably this time last year when I moved in (during TBBI: the time before blogging in Ireland).

I drove up the back roads to the secluded house overlooking the sea. The sound of the waves carries up the valley; you can hear it inside the house, over any typing sounds. Today the herd of cows were still gathered close to the house (last year they used to watch Orlaith TV, they'd just follow me from room to room, see what I was up to). And the birds were gathering all their nesty materials, and the bluebells and wild garlic and bright yellow gorse were all in bloom; it won't be too long before the spires of cerise foxglove start appearing.

So, I stood listening to the waves. I used to make my way down through the fields to the strand - a little stretch of sheltered beach. Sometimes as I passed by, the cows would all start mooing loudly, like a bovine security alarm. I remembered the day it was discovered that the little wire field-fences were sometimes electrified (sorry Shona!).

Back then, the neighbour-farmers knew me, and they were fine with me going through the fields; this year I should probably drive the long way around to the beach. So, I picked up the gardeney things that I'd left there (for tis the season of planting up) and retraced my steps, away from the lovely, inspirational place.

Angels in the mist

There was a walk planned yesterday for Mount Gabriel, close to Schull.

The Orlaith-version of the plan was weather-dependent. If fine, I would head for the mountains; if the weather was manky I was supposed to curl up on the sofa with coffee and muffins and do nothing in particular for hours, probably until it was time for Columbo.

But I found myself arriving in Schull without any rigorous weather-checking. I had some more coffee out there, met some walkers; there were a bunch of kids in our group so I figured it couldn't be that bad, and off we went. Trudge trudge, rain rain.

Apart from bronze-age copper mines all over the place, at the top of the mountain is Mount Gabriel tracking station, which controls the airspace in these here parts, tracking all craft going to/coming from the Americas. As you can imagine, lots of security, and massive golf-ball-type radar domes. On a fine day, the views are apparently spectacular.



It was good fun, despite the no-view and the rain. I have a tendency to be adopted by children, so there was much mucking around up and down the mountain. And by the time I got home, Columbo was asking his first question...