Freezing

 

Despite Hannah's dire warning, we ventured out today. Bert drove and all went well until, outside our favourite breakfast cafe, the van got stuck in the icy car park. We were helped by a small Englishman and his partner who steered us out while the rest of us pushed. I was so grateful that I nearly wished England were still in the World Cup tournament.

After that small adventure, we went to a nearby fishing supplies shop to search for some Tasmanian boots. Sadly, their stock was low and my size was not available. It was an interesting shop though. I never knew that fisherfolk needed so much stuff. They have special everything. 

I was supposed to go to the bank to cancel a direct debit but it was cold and I had a longing for my wood-burning stove so went home instead. I have changed my phone contract and I know that more savvy people than I can do their banking from the comfort of their own warm fires but somehow i can't get the hang of it. Maybe it's because my phone hasn't enough memory. I have bought some memory and now I have to work out how to get it onto the phone.

Bert didn't have music last night so we thought we'd watch an episode or two of Motherland but then the TV started playing up and that was after me getting new superfast broadband. I'm wondering now if we need a new firestick or a new television. Everything is about technology nowadays. Les called round with very fancy marshmallows and instead of an insert telling one what flavour they were we were expected to use a QR scanner to connect us to the company website. Bert thought he could do it with his phone because it's a Smart Phone duh! He had no luck with that not having installed the app. Luckily I had it because I needed it to scan something for the Van Gogh immersive experience I'm (supposed to be) going to in January.

Well, we had marshmallows with our tea and I went to bed with this laptop. A friend contacted me on Facebook to ask me about a mutual acquaintance. Next thing she's calling me. I didn't know Facebook could do that. I pressed the appropriate key and there is a picture of her favourite cat and her voice filling the room. So there I am, in bed, laptop in front of me and Vinny talking to me just as if she was sitting at the end of my bed. The news wasn't good. The fellow she was telling me about had died. He had been a friend of her late husband and was the brother of two of our friends. As a Mr Heffron once remarked to me (at another funeral, of course)

They're taking them out of our pen now.

All over social media, friends and family have been taking photos of the winter wonderland outside. Not I. It's too cold. Instead, I offer up a picture of my fridge, c. 2005. Maybe you're on there. In your younger days.

Saint Patrick's Day

 Usually, St Patrick's Day passes without note. It means very little to me nowadays. It used to - a day off school mid-Lent was always a good thing even if it was rather dampened by compulsory attendance at Mass, whilst wearing a clump of something dark green and trifoliate which was supposed to be shamrock. Even so, I always loved hearing Faith of our Fathers and Hail! Glorious St. Patrick belted out resoundingly by Sheena, piercingly by Aunt Mary and with all other choristers doing their best to keep up. One St Patrick's, Daddy took us to Randalstown to see a Hibernian March. The Hibs were a sort of counterpart to the Orange and, I must confess, I was expecting to see a lot more pomp and circumstance. Our main reason for attending was to support Cousin Joe who had joined an accordion band and I was beyond excited. Along they came, a collection of (sorry) po-faced men, marching along looking very pious and accompanied by the saddest of accordionists, a couple of lack-lustre drummers and a forgettable banner. The Glorious Twelfth it was not. Did I also mention it was mizzling with rain?

Since then, the celebration of St Patrick's Day, like Halloween and Irish dancing, have all been overly influenced by our American cousins. Parades? Wearing of the green? Drinking the bit out? A lot of nonsense except for the drinking of course. The 17th of March falling always in Lent was seen as an excuse to break one's abstention from alcohol. And as children, we would give up sweeties for Lent and there would be an exception allowed for Paddy's Day.

These days, no Mass for me, no Lenten fast. St Patrick's Day is just another bank holiday. Martha had the entire day off school, while Evie had a half-day. I picked Martha up just after ten and we went to a coffee shop for breakfast. Martha had something ridiculous that included waffles, strawberries and cream. That's not breakfast, that's dessert. I had something pancakey which was practically a dessert except for the bacon topping. Martha's mum had a coffee. Decaff. We observed that species of mummy often referred to as yummy. It was like being in an episode of Motherland.

Martha and I parted company with her mother and my daughter and we had a very quick dash around the charity shops before picking up Evie. We then went to the Factory Craft Shop where I bought some glue (for a purpose) and some knitting yarn (for a purpose) and to Lynas for Haribo (for St Patrick's Day) then home.

Every year we get this agricultural themed calendar from our friend Richard. In the light of Holly's unexpected death, I felt I needed to replace the bull picture with a Holly de Cat picture. Hence the glue.

Home then to find Young Loveheart and two bags of sausage rolls. Happy days for Bert and Evie who had not been in an episode of Motherland with waffles, pancakes and cream. Next to arrive were the girl's parents and they and I went off to the woods to plant rowans, oaks, hawthorn, hornbeam and birch. Loveheart and Bert did something mysterious, Martha worked off the Motherland carbs on the trampoline and Evie made a grave marker for Holly, and then watched Netflix. We all had a very enjoyable afternoon. The best St Patrick's Day in an age and not a shamrock in sight.

Evie made this beautiful marker for Holly de Cat. It will be placed on the grave when the yacht varnish dries.