Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunday, April 05, 2009


Sunday, March 22, 2009
Rick, Katie and Reuben all arrived on Friday morning.
It was Win's birthday and so we Skyped Dave and Stacey and Caleb and Grace in Canada and blew out the candles 4000 apart!Friday, March 20, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Fermanagh is great walking country. I really must take an extended time down there.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Friday, February 06, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
I'm reading a book at the moment by Charlie Connelly called, "Attention All Shipping". It's a journey round the BBC Shipping forecast on Radio 4. The nightly shipping forcast is one of the iconic broadcasts by the BBC. I have listend to it late at night driving home with the rain beating off the car windows or tucked up in bed with the duvet round me thinking of fishing boats battling though a force 8 or 9 in the Irish Sea.
In the book a mention is made of that fine poem by Sean Street and I thought I would share it with you.
Shipping Forecast
The Fisherman and His Wife in Donegal
They have shared still late October,
but salt stones and a broken tree,
the peeled paint on the lifeboat house
chime with places where the glass falls,
prime sources encountering night’s bald predictions.
Everywhere winter edges in,
and now the time is ten to six...
Lightness and weight, air’s potentials
pressed into words, implication;
here – on all coasts – listening grows passionately tense.
Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,
North Utsire, South Utsire,
Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger...
This pattern of names on the sea –
Weather’s unlistening geography – paves water.
Beyond the music, the singing
of sounds – this minimal chanting,
this ritual pared to the bone
becomes the cold poetry of information.
The litany edges closer –Lundy, Fastnet and Irish Sea...
Routine enough, all just routine,
Always his eyes guessing beyond
the headland, she perhaps sleeping, no words spoken.
He stretches forward to grasp it,
claims his radio place – and now
the weather reports from coastal stations and then:
Malin Head – such routine
that she barely glances up, but hears now falling.
In the book a mention is made of that fine poem by Sean Street and I thought I would share it with you.
Shipping Forecast
The Fisherman and His Wife in Donegal
They have shared still late October,
but salt stones and a broken tree,
the peeled paint on the lifeboat house
chime with places where the glass falls,
prime sources encountering night’s bald predictions.
Everywhere winter edges in,
and now the time is ten to six...
Lightness and weight, air’s potentials
pressed into words, implication;
here – on all coasts – listening grows passionately tense.
Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland,
North Utsire, South Utsire,
Fisher, German Bight, Tyne, Dogger...
This pattern of names on the sea –
Weather’s unlistening geography – paves water.
Beyond the music, the singing
of sounds – this minimal chanting,
this ritual pared to the bone
becomes the cold poetry of information.
The litany edges closer –Lundy, Fastnet and Irish Sea...
Routine enough, all just routine,
Always his eyes guessing beyond
the headland, she perhaps sleeping, no words spoken.
He stretches forward to grasp it,
claims his radio place – and now
the weather reports from coastal stations and then:
Malin Head – such routine
that she barely glances up, but hears now falling.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Haven't posted for a while.
Had a good but busy Christmas, the way it fell this year.


Winnie stayed over Christmas, which was nice and Rick, Katie and Reuben came up on Christmas Day. Freddie and Linda and the family came on Christmas night.
On Boxing Day went down to Carl and Mavis' house and had a meal and the traditional Christmas Pud.
Stayed overnight. and awoke to a bright and frosty morning.
Went sailing on New Year's Eve.


Winnie stayed over Christmas, which was nice and Rick, Katie and Reuben came up on Christmas Day. Freddie and Linda and the family came on Christmas night.
On Boxing Day went down to Carl and Mavis' house and had a meal and the traditional Christmas Pud.
Stayed overnight. and awoke to a bright and frosty morning.

Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Christmas time is a bit hectic in church.
Monday, December 08, 2008



This year the competition was particularly fierce.
May and Campbell had brought a Gingerbread House Kit home from Chattanooga, and Alison had baked her own kit from plans she found in a magazine.As usual Pat was the honest judge! (Honest in the sense that she made it clear from the start that she was open to bribery!)

In the end Rick and Katie won with a modified kit. from Ikea.

Friday, December 05, 2008
A friend of us has a house in Cranfield, which he wasn't using and very generously loaned it to us for the week.
It's in a beautiful location just at the beach with the Mourne Mountains behind us.
Weather was beautiful, clear blue skies all week but frosty.
The lighthouse was built in 1818. The original light floated on a bed of mercury and was turned by a heavy lead weight on a chain which slowly dropped the length of the lighthouse. One of the Lighthouse Keeper's jobs was to winch the lead weight up again every 40 minutes!
We spent a lot of time walking and geocaching in the Mournes.
(The following is from Wikipeda.) "Rostrevor was the birthplace of Major General Robert Ross-of-Bladensburg, a British commander during the American War of Independence. After defeating an American force at Bladensburgh in 1814, he entered Washington on August 24 and burned many buildings including the White House. Not long after, he was killed at the Battle of Baltimore."
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