Ireland
Am I only Dreaming or is this Burning an Eternal Flame?
The Olympic flame travelled through Dublin this morning. The school took the children out to see. As Michael said, “It was the first time I saw Jedward in real life.”
Big Day
As Michael told us last night, today is a big day: the new edition of the Club Penguin magazine is out, it’s the day before school sports day; and it’s referendum day.
I brought the children with me to vote. The nice girl at the desk gave them jellies. “Who’s the youngest?” she asked. “Me!” said Michael. The girl gave him the ballot paper. “Only by 20 minutes” said Daniel. “You can put it in the box, then.” He promptly proceeded to do so and only quick reflexes on everyone’s part stopped a spoilt vote.
The secrecy of my ballot was compromised by Michael roaring at me in the booth: “Why did you put an x there and not a tick; you want to vote yes!”. This gave everyone in the room a laugh. The attendants looked pretty bored. I’d say turnout has been atrocious.
Game On
I was trying to buy quails at the butcher’s but he had none and, in a moment of weakness, I was upsold. He pulled a pair of pheasants from the freezer and sold them to me with the novel line that they were only a bit larger than quails.
I retained dim memories from my youth of my mother’s cousin, a farmer, turning up at our front door with birds he had shot but didn’t fancy eating which my mother subsequently hung in the attic. I feel they were nice when we got them. They were not, however, frozen. The non-frozen pheasant may be the better bird. On the plus side, I didn’t have to pluck them myself. [Aside, once my sister’s friend, the vegetarian, called to the house and my mother answered the door in a lab coat covered with feathers while holding a largely plucked pheasant by the neck.]
The pheasants lurked menacingly in the fridge for a bit but tonight I decided to cook them. I feared that the outcome might be reminiscent of the great wild boar disaster of ’07. Certainly, pheasant is not seasonal at the moment. I decided to create pheasant stew. I lashed in the root vegetables, bacon and red wine. I couldn’t easily source chestnuts, what with it being May and everything and substituted mushrooms. It cooked happily all evening filling the summer air with toasty winter smells in a disconcerting and ultimately unsatisfactory manner.
It’s just out of the oven and there is masses of it. The stew is actually quite tasty in an ideal for mid-winter kind of way but the pheasant itself is, alas, deeply unpleasant, stringy and tough. Alas. Still, that’s dinner for tomorrow ready all the same. Hurrah for me.
Litter Watch
The other day, I saw two teenage girls walking along the street. One asked the other whether she wanted some Lucozade. When her companion said no, she just tossed the bottle on the ground. I was outraged. Particularly since there was a bin only about a metre away. I toyed very hard with the idea of saying something but my nerve failed me. We live in quite a rough part of town, you will recall.
Mr. Waffle tells me that our neighbour, who was born in her house around the corner and who is quite elderly is more than a match for the local young people. He, she and other virtuous members of the residents’ association were out cleaning up litter (thank you Lucozade girls) which they do a couple of times a year. As Mr. Waffle and our neighbour were working away, a boy of about 14 came by with a girl. He threw some rubbish on the ground. “Pick that up,” said our elderly neighbour. “Ah feck off, missus,” said he or words to that effect. At this point I would have abandoned in fear and mortification. Our neighbour is made of sterner stuff. She reached up and clipped him round the ear and said firmly, “Pick that up now and none of your nonsense.” He picked it up.
Further Weekend Activities
Yes, it’s just non-stop. This weekend, Daniel played football on Saturday morning, climbed the Sugar Loaf on Saturday afternoon, went orienteering on Sunday morning and played tennis on Sunday afternoon. Yet he is not exhausted. A mystery.
The rest of us partook of a sample of these activities. The children and I climbed the Sugar Loaf which is according to our guide book the second most climbed mountain in Ireland. It was certainly busy on Saturday afternoon. “Tourists,” said the Princess disdainfully. And though she felt it was a bit too easy, it was certainly hard enough for me. Part of the problem is that she and Michael are very nimble but Daniel isn’t (he’s the best at running and ball games, so it’s good that he doesn’t triumph at everything, I suppose). We got to the top and admired the view:
Then herself and Michael scrambled down with admirable speed but a less than entirely admirable consideration for their mother. They got to the car park a good three quarters of an hour before Daniel and I made it down. I, of course, worried that they would fall and break their necks but had to stay with Daniel who was afraid of falling and therefore the most cautious of the lot. There were some recriminations. Still, it’s a great mountain to have climbed because the shape is so distinctive and you can see it every time you drive into Wicklow.
Then on Sunday we went orienteering with the cousins again and all the children seemed to really like it. This week, they hared round the course and might have made quite good time had they not had to wait for me.
I am exhausted after all this outdoor activity. I think I will stay in for the rest of the week nursing my tired limbs.
