27 October, 2007
a right Gaelic time
Goodness, where to start? We're back, after a week in Ireland and a day in Wales, with a suitcase full of FILTHY laundry (it's dirty living in a 13th century castle, plus ponies, rolling on abbey lawns, countless cooking adventures with salmon, potatoes, cabbage and other sundries without an apron, nettles, rainstorms, you name it), cats unbelievably grateful to see us (which I think speaks to Dory's warm treatment of them while we were gone: if they had been lonely they'd punish us). I just crawled out from under a duvet with two cats stretched out on my legs and if I hadn't heard the *&^% sound of the washer telling me a load was ready to come out, I'd have stayed there all night.
We had the time of our lives. It started a bit rocky dragging a puny, lurgy (great English word that; in my family we say "snorky" but it all means full of something nasty in the head and chest) Avery with us. But she rallied.
I shall have lots more tomorrow, but feast your eyes on these photographs. And feel fortunate that the Irish accent I immediately developed ("stop pronouncing all those extras ts, Mummy!" I heard quite soon) doesn't come through on a blog. We are all collapsing, this misty evening, but I'll be back in fine form on the morrow, sure and you've been missing me...