I had a bit of a ‘moment’ when two women called to my house last week and recited a passage from the Bible to me. It was strangely peaceful … until the dog peed on one of their shoes. Then it just got awkward
• SATURDAY mornings are gloriously relaxing and a real chance for some precious ‘me time.’ Or so I’ve heard. Personally I find it’s when all the hope, enthusiasm, and warm fuzziness of Friday night (possibly spurred on by a little G&T) starts to dissolve like an alka seltzer, and it becomes obvious that you won’t be enjoying a grown-up brunch, that you won’t be meeting friends for lunch and that you won’t be enjoying a cheeky night away. Instead you’re faced with the reality of laundry, groceries, and enough kids’ activities to warrant a spreadsheet. Now last Saturday, to be fair, I was feeling relatively on top of things. I had skipped the previous night’s G&T and had even partaken in some exercise earlier, so I was feeling uncharacteristically smug. That was my downfall. I took my eye off the ball and before I knew it, I realised the breakfast debris hadn’t been cleared up, and it was already lunch-time, I had missed my window for a shower and we needed to be pitch-side in no time at all. Just as I was about to start roaring something along the lines of ‘am I the only one around here who does anything?’ the door bell rang. That was unusual in itself. Sorry Dermot (Bannon), we’re one of those households you despair of, with a lovely front door that’s almost never used. Instead I like to welcome all visitors through the back door and via the utility room (where you’re likely to be greeted with anything from underwear drying on the clothes horse, to a mini-shoe mountain). Apparently it takes two builds to get your perfect house … in my next life.
• Anyway, once I prised the front door open and weaved my way through the cobwebs, I was met with two ladies who looked a bit like Jessica Fletcher, all kind and caring … and chatty. The puppy had joined us at that stage and the ladies, referring to him as Timmy, introduced themselves as being members of the Jehovah Witness community. I was just wondering if they were prophets of some kind, what with knowing Timmy, but it turned out that they had just met my brother who was heading out and had sent them my way. Funny that. Now, I’m not sure about anyone else but when I feel a bit nervous or uncomfortable I always get an urge to start laughing like a crazy person. The situation wasn’t helped by Timmy peeing on top of one of their shoes, which they kindly ignored. Strangely the LOLs left me as one of them read a passage from the bible and pointed out that we weren’t put on this earth to live lives of stress, we deserved more. That’s what I heard anyway, although I was only half listening what with still trying to suppress the last of the giggles. I’m not sure if it was the post-exercise endorphins still flowing or what, but the two Jessicas put me right back on track to make the most of the rest of the day. I had to point out to them that I was a (fair weather) member of the Catholic church, but they didn’t seem to mind that at all, and off they went on their soggy-footed way. Now, I did go back inside roaring ‘is anyone actually going to help me?’ but when no one replied I didn’t lose it in the spectacular way I would usually. Amen to that! Same time next Saturday ladies?
• For everyone asking (ok so no one has been asking), Madge the magpie’s residency continues and I’m getting more fascinated with her by the day. I wrote last week how she sneakily swoops in for the odd crust when she thinks no one is looking. Well, the other day I threw her out three quarters of a day-old pain au chocolat to see what she’d do with it. I should point out that I’ve nothing against day-old pastries, which is the exact problem. That really annoying phrase of ‘summer bodies are made in the winter’ seems to have slipped my mind until this week. Who remembers that scene in Sex and the City where Miranda tries to stop herself from eating cake by throwing it in the bin? That’s what I was doing with the pastry – except throwing it at the bird. Anyway, within a split second of it landing, out she hopped out from I don’t know where, and retrieved it in a single mouthful (it wasn’t light!) before swaggering off. I wouldn’t be surprised if she enjoyed it with a flat white and did something with it for TikTok – just to take some of the attention from the great spotted woodpecker in Glengarriff. Her attitude is off the scale.
• So I really hate being all preachy but yet again I’m flabbergasted by the amount of litter on our roads. In fairness! It’s the same on our main routes as it is on the back roads. It seems to be a case of ‘do it yourself’ like the little red hen which means there’s nothing for it but to bring a black bag with you when you go for a walk, or go on an entire dedicated litter-picking jaunt. And a bit like me after my early morning workout, you’ll get to feel a little smug afterwards, as well as bit grimey. And here’s a useful tip - don’t forget the gloves.
• What are people making of The Diplomat on Netflix? I’ve done a really stupid thing of starting it, while also still watching The Night Agent. As a result I’ve lost all grasp of what’s happening in either, and am abandoning both. Far more captivating viewing is RTÉ’s new three-part series about the wildlife wonders of Ireland’s Atlantic islands. Made by Eoin Warner from Bantry, the series which started last Sunday, sees him sail a 140-year-old Galway hooker from Rathlin Island down past Mayo, Clare, and Kerry, and on to West Cork. It’s been three years in the making and will include Whiddy Island, and white-tailed eagles on Garinish Island among many other delights. It’s well worth catching on the player if you missed it, and tuning in for the next two Sundays to RTÉ One at 6.30pm. I wonder should I get on to him to see if he’d be interested in making something with my bird?
