I went to Belfast yesterday, St George's Market, then past the Courts where TV camera crews were setting up. Something to do with an atrocity that happened 52 years ago, involving someone who'd be in their seventies now, someone whose name we are not permitted to know, but whose court-sanctioned alias has featured on flags and banners in this forsaken place for some years now. Of course, I only knew this once I got home and Googled it.
That apart I enjoyed my day in the city. I exited St George's as fast as my Blundies could carry me. It's a horrible touristy hole. I only went there for the mushrooms.
I thought of going as far as the Botanic Gardens but decided against it. There was an off chance that the photographer guy who frequents it might want to feature me for his Insta page and I hadn't washed my hair. Another time.
Instead I hung around the delightfully diverse Botanic Avenue where, if the weather was finer, one could almost imagine oneself in some European city rather than grim old Belfast.
The mushroom guy had kindly given me a freebie of yellow chanterelle. He didn't say what I was supposed to do with them so that evening I sauteed them in butter and shared them with Bert. Delicious.
This afternoon, I met Miss Evie and she took me to Boots where she bought some hair stuff. Then we went to the Oxfam Shop (her idea) where she chose some bling. Then it was off to a coffee shop and had cinnamon buns and I had a coffee and she had a blueberry bubble frappe, which is something I'd never, ever heard of. She seemed to enjoy it and explained the bubbles to me and I'm not sure I approve but sure, it's not as if she's having them all the time.
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