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Typical Piscean, dreamer, story teller in the tradition of my country, I love to write. I'm not sure that I'm any good at it, but getting the words down has its reward.

12 June 2016

May's Farmer's Market and the rabbits are back!

I was just sitting enjoying a cup of tea early this morning, when it suddenly hit me that it is the 12th of June.  Where on earth have the last few weeks disappeared to?

The start of May found me hobbling around with a badly swollen right knee, compliments of rheumatism.  However, nothing loathe, as the saying goes, Himself and I started the month by driving out to the Farmer’s Market at Kilruddery House in Bray, Co. Wicklow.  It’s a popular destination for all dedicated foodies and many of my friends congregate there on Saturday mornings, sipping Tai Chi latte and herbal teas. 

Me?  Well, apart from the odd jar of chutney, I make a beeline for the book stall and the lovely gentleman who runs it.  Many are the conversations we have had about books; a bookworm himself, he starts gathering what he knows I will like the minute he sees me on the horizon. He never lets me down.  For sheer solid good value this stall is a personal heaven.  For the princely sum of €18 I came away with a Maigret novel, a book on the Comanche Indians, Art in the great houses of Ireland, a cookery book for a friend and a history of Ireland.  All the books are in excellent condition and cost roughly €3 to €4 each.

I have to say I was less enamoured of little Sophie, [approximate age six, mass of curly nut brown hair, red ribbon, electric blue socks in white sandals, lime green cardigan and floral pinafore with a cyclamen pink tee-shirt underneath].  Sophie, or Soapy as her brother called her [clearly a discerning ten-year-old] was informing her mother and all and sundry that she would not ****ing well sit down and that she didn’t like her mother one ****ing bit.  I’m sure there are gentlemen who work on the docks whose hair would turn grey to hear Soapy’s language.  In another day and age her mouth would have been washed out with soap. 

Mum [harassed looking thirty something in check shirt, white tee shirt and tatty jeans with brown high heeled shoes] wearily begged darling not to be naughty and to sit down and eat the nice slice of apple strudel; Soapy’s response was to kick her mother with great precision in mid-calf with some force.  Her face in a rictus of agony Mum again begged darling to be a good girl and not to do that again or she would be put on the naughty box when they got home.  Darling kicked Mum twice in quick succession for good measure while sweeping a mug of coffee off the table.
While Soapy was multi-tasking, Edward dear, the discerning ten-year-old, was, while examining the contents of his upper nasal passages, removing a five euro note from Mum’s purse while she was facing towards Darling Sopheeeeeee.  Pocketing the moola, he then sauntered over to eye up the cakes.  What a multi-tasking pair of little darlings they are.  If Mum lives long enough and doesn’t collapse from high blood pressure she will no doubt be enormously proud of his entrepreneurial skills when he is in his twenties, and Soapy’s skills as a prop forward on some unfortunate rugby team.
I’m not entirely convinced that all this no slapping thing is working; a generation of self-centred selfie taking individuals is beginning to show itself up.  Enraptured with themselves and with little or no sense of discipline I sometimes fear for the future.  However, on a brighter note, there are pockets of down to earth endearing children who will make the world a better place, that’s if the selfie groups let them impinge on their universe.

Gradually, over the course of the month the knee got better with the improving weather, and life returned to normal.  YD embarked on a major makeover of her room, and I look forward to the reveal when OH and I return from a short break to the country.  Inspired by her makeover work and the prodigious amount of de-cluttering she was engaged in, I decided to declutter too. 

I am now minus two pairs of trousers that had seen better days, there were three but I think there is a bit of gardening wear still left in them.  I assembled all the ornaments I decided I wanted to declutter the house from and while passing a local auction house I went in to enquire when the next china/porcelain auction would be.  The Ansley vases I bought at auction there look lovely with the other “for decluttering” stuff, well, I’m not hard hearted, who would love and look after them as well as I would hmmmm?

The June bank holiday brought an end to the mini-heatwave we were having.  On Monday morning OH came into the kitchen full of excitement.  “There are rabbits in the garden” he said urging me to come to the dining room window and there, grazing peacefully was Mammy rabbit and her baby.  Now to be known as Mrs Hopsy and Little Speedy respectively.  It has been almost fifteen years since we had rabbits in the garden.  Living cheek by jowl with the fox.  

I have often thought the foxes looked on the rabbits as a sort of winter larder, not to be used while hunting was good elsewhere and in case food was not dispensed from the kitchen window of the house.  Mme. Pounce has discovered Hopsy and I am afraid that she may try to attack Mrs Hopsy. As I said to YD, if it comes to a choice between Mme Pounce and Mrs Hopsy, the rabbit gets my vote.  Mrs Hopsy was with us again today complete with Pounce’s unwanted attention, Little Speedy, I fear, may not have made it past the Bank Holiday.

We had, on Bank Holiday Monday, the worst electrical storm in years.  As YD and I sat enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen, there was an almighty bang outside and the whole place lit up with an orange glow.  I was sitting near the window and realised that the forked lightning had hit the rocks behind the house.  Suddenly I could feel a tingle all over and my hair stood up like a halo around me.  I'm non the worse for it and indeed haven't felt as good in ages...not that I'd recommend a lightning bolt to anyone as a health treatment.  As OH said, it was lucky I wasn't out in the garden and we can thank the rain for that.

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