My lovely house (with apologies to Father Ted): Weather, weirdness and wildlife.

Next stop America.....

Part eight (I guess).

Well I’ve been in the new house for a week so far. Not a week entirely without incident…..As usual the ferry over predicted rough weather. As usual I didn’t feel a thing (although that might have something to do with terminal sleep deprivation). Following a by now well established pattern, I called in to see my solicitor near Dublin. Of course I arrived at 6.45am, his first appointment of the day is 9.30. Nothing, but nothing is open at that hour of the morning, so I took the dog for a walk. It was a fabulous clear frosty night, dawn not being due for another hour or so. I had never experienced the town where I grew up at that time of day, my student career (staggering home at daybreak in last nights party gear, minus some important element such as shoes or coat…) having been misspent elsewhere. We walked along the canal, down past the college and watched steam rise from the stream which runs through the castle grounds. My father always maintained there was a chain of hot springs in the area, one of which manifested itself as a well in our garden, off which steam also rose in cold weather (hot is a relative term here). I wonder if the builders have found the well yet???? We walked round the back of the new shopping centre, all underground car parking and service entrances and crossed into the college grounds. I knew that some parts of the college were fairly old, but suddenly I felt as if I was on the set of ‘Inspector Morse’! The smell of breakfast being prepared in the dining hall (a proper hall, complete with oak beams, not a breeze block and formica horror) encouraged me back into town in search of hot cholesterol. The dog, much to her disgust, was abandoned in the car (in a nice cozy bed). It was just as well Himself had been unable to accompany us, as I had stuffed the van to the gills again, to the point where the back of the passenger seat was tipped forward until it almost touched the dashboard. This tiny triangle of space became the dog’s. It’s a good job she’s a terrier and not a deerhound!

Having achieved not very much we set off on the road again. It did cross my mind that if I had kept driving I would be almost there by now. I discussed this with the dog, but she was noncommittal. I was undecided as to whether to break my journey at my cousin’s house, but decided that the brakes on the van might not be up to the job of keeping an overloaded van stationary on an extremely steep hill overnight. It was a beautiful sunny day, which I would have appreciated more, had I not been driving into the sunset for most of the journey. I was briefly distracted by the sight of an aeroplane, it’s vapour trail catching the sunlight, like a slow moving comet.

Mostly I was blinded and drove in the ditch to avoid the invisible oncoming artic.

We made a brief stop for groceries, I have no idea how I managed to fit them into the remaining space, and there was the occasional distressing sound of a bottle clinking on a hard object as we lurched around the sharp bends and through the potholes.

Naturally the weather broke the following day. I suited up in waterproof trousers, oilskin and wellies and sallied forth to deal with the encroaching gorse. Boil in the bag was an appropriate description of my condition as I struggled with gnarled and viciously prickly trunks (this gorse has stems thicker than my arm and is considerably taller than me). The weather changed on a minute by minute basis, torrential rain, blazing sunshine, bruise coloured clouds depositing their load of hail, carried on a blustery and scouring wind and some of the most magnificent rainbows I have ever seen. I thought I was going to drive directly under one, but then it was simply somewhere else (I knew there was no chance of that pot of gold!). I took a picture of one, but the result looks like a still from the execrable ‘Darby O’Gill and The Little People’, a piece of Hollywood cod Irish awfulness circa 1970.

My Rainbow

No sign of that pot of gold yet...... Just missed my front garden!

The whole country was talking about the impending budget, and no one thought it would be a kind one. The prices here are already eyewatering, so I’m saving any combustible material from my gorse butchering to heat the house. I have been deliberately avoiding shops and any other opportunities to spend money, which is tricky with Xmas approaching and expectant family members awaiting my return…..(what do you get the man/woman who has everything???…..Penicillin ! boom boom!). So far there’s chocolates, biscuits, nuts… IF they survive a further week in my company. On the other hand, the local charity shops have some real bargains, if you are prepared to root around in the musty smelling corners and half unpacked black bags. There are times when I feel I should have come equipped with surgical gloves…. Still, I picked up some gardening clothes for a couple of Euro, including some notably unpleasant woollen leggings, which are four or five sizes too big and had my mate recoiling in horror and disgust when I held them up for her appraisal.. They are invisible under my turquoise waterproof trousers and traffic cone orange oversized Kagoule (and red wellies) all of which conspire to make me look like a giant, sickle wielding, psychotic gnome (we do NOT mention the ‘L word, ok?)

To relieve the tedium of butchering gorse I butchered some brambles (‘bastard brambles’ as they have quickly come to be known). I have discovered, lurking under a patch the size of an average urban garden, some sizeable mounds and burrows. They are, in fact, large enough for me to re consider the existence of Hobbits. I took pictures, but once again, they don’t do them justice.

Before anyone gets outraged that I am disturbing my badgers, I did stop and check very carefully whether the burrows were still in use before continuing with my clearance.

The rain and wind persist, which presents me with a bit of a problem, I have created a house sized pile of spiky stuff. I tried to ignite it on the one dry still evening there has been. Unfortunately it is almost impossible to ignite something which is 80% water. My mate has offered her assistance as a card carrying pyromaniac, but only, she says, when the bonfire is big enough to dance round. The last time I availed of her assistance, (many years ago at my uncle’s house) we went in search of accelerant in the shed and found what might have been petrol, but may also have been poitin. The resulting conflagration melted the gutters and for a short period outshone a nearby lighthouse. I fully expected the emergency services to turn up (whether to offer assistance or take us into custody I’m not sure).

Speaking of emergency services, late on Saturday night while I was curled up in front of the fire with a glass of wine for company my phone signalled the arrival of a text, then another. Now the signal here is dreadful and it often takes hours for a text to arrive. I didn’t rush to check it, but when I eventually did I found a message from himself to say that my Landrover had been stolen from outside his house. Of course I was gutted, I mean, it’s not as if it’s a luxury vehicle or anything. It’s over twenty years old, riddled with rust and leaky. It drives like an elderly truck (which it is). Himself and myself have had the engine out, replaced the clutch and cam bearings and god knows what else. In short, I feel an attachment towards the old girl, even if she does make my arms ache and I have to sit on several cushions in order to be able to see the end of the bonnet (and she smells of farmyard and diesel). I stalked round the house trying to find a signal, finally achieving one in the bathroom, precariously balancing on the stool. It was still a shit signal and I could only catch every second word, but I extrapolated. The one thing I caught during our very brief exchange (the police were there) was that the putative thief had dropped his driving license while breaking into the vehicle. There was hope! I spent an anxious and rather unhappy day awaiting news, not wanting to hope too much, but not quite able to believe she had gone for good. Finally I got a text, she’d been found by CID J! The only downside is that there is a recovery charge, I guess I’m lucky that I’m not being charged for storage as CID want forensics to go over her, but you have to PAY when you have a car nicked???? I hope himself took note of the culprit’s details before handing the license over, Not that I would dream of turning up at 3am with a can of spray paint…. Thank God for moronic criminals!

I’m thrilled to bits that I’ve got her back though, I think her attributes will be essential here. As I may have mentioned, it has rained and rained and rained here. My ‘drive’ is a muddy rutted track, which is ok in the van, but then I have to get through my gate and up to the house, there’s a slight incline, and it’s all grassed over. Apparently there’s gravel under there somewhere, but it’s been a while since anyone has seen it. This means that I have taken to leaving the gate open and risking cattle as I have to take a good run up to the entrance, only veering into it at the last minute, once I have enough momentum. At this point the van will start to fishtail and I just have to hold my breath and hope that I don’t slam into the gateposts, once through the gate it’s a slalom up to the house, narrowly avoiding the bramble bank, or ending up in the field, where I fear the van would remain until a friendly tractor could be found to drag it out. Of course I have received copious advice on the best way to drive this obstacle course (all from blokes…. Hmmm…). Personally I believe the best way to approach it is in a 4X4!