What a glorious day, warm (yes, actual heat) sunny cloudless skies, crystal clear ocean, and peace - no, no peace, fucking tourists everywhere, Irish ones which is even worse, thinking they own the roads and every place they stop.
I live in a beautiful place, rough, rugged, wild and untamed. Roads meander through the landscape, cut into cliff faces and askew on mountains. Each little hill, each corner gives another breathtaking vista to admire and make you gasp at the incredulity of wilderness and what it has to offer. Narrow roads with grass growing in the middle, the “off the beaten track” ones that give you a true glimpse into the beautiful undulating topography that is Ireland. And every bastarding one of them is filled with ignorant, self-righteous, undisciplined, incapable-of-reversing idiots who believe they own the place and have right of way.
All through this pandemic, my life has barely changed. I adore where I live, the moodiness of the ocean is fascinating to me - the barren landscape surrounding it interspersed with vibrant colours depending on the season by plants whose survival astonishes me, let alone how they flourish and take over such a place, giving us swathes of colour so intense an artist could never capture it and be believed. The description “50 shades of green” doesn’t hold a candle to the intense burning that gorse has in full bloom giving an air of fire on a hill or a mountain, nor the deep purple hue on a hill filled with heather bursting with heady scents and buzzing with honey bees hard at work producing jelly-like honey so musky in taste and so healing to eat. “Sea pinks” are a lilac colour, their stems a pale green both in stark contrast against the stone walls they manage to sprout from currently growing in abundance and delighting the senses, their soft petals brushing gently along the sides of my car as I dodge yet another idiot who doesn’t know how to drive on country roads. I apologise to those petals softly, praying I don’t bruise them, before I open my window and delicately roar obscenities at the ass who, as usual, can’t reverse before I get to take the steering wheel of his fucking car to reverse it out of the way so I can unearth my own car from the drain I just buried it in trying to dodge him.
I have a glorious (yes, correct description) friend here this weekend who came to “cheer me up” because she thought I was down as I’d been distant and quiet. She arrived late Thursday night having travelled for seven hours on motorbike after a day’s work, all for me. (Yes, I’ve been distant and quiet, because of this site!!!) So I took her on a few tours around here, letting her see it in all its glory, or attempting to in between bouts of prolific swearing. She laughed, I swore.
So this morning, before anyone rose, I disappeared. I took myself off in the quiet of a Sunday morning and sought my peace. I blogged about that already...! This afternoon, I disappeared to the garden with a book and some sunshine (yes, it really was warm!!!) and ended up asleep breathing in the dandelions and clover in the lawn which I refuse to kill. I woke stiff as a board, stretched (and regretted it as everything creaked) but felt human enough to face another tour and more tourists. Big mistake.
So now you all know, I’m patient to a point, but I blame this blog on the gin. Important note: I don’t even like gin, but for some reason a glass of wine just wasn’t enough this evening...
