Monday 31 May 2010.
Well the comical aspects of some of the incidents and some of the crack in Greenore yesterday seemed to be amplified as I watered the flowers this morning and my spirit was exceptionally warm dressed as I was in black robe, pajamas, Lotus flip-flops. A dangerous omen? I remember feeling like that in 1975 when my father was alive around the time I got my first breakdown. Anyway I think I ate bread for breakfast with a mug of tea. And I stayed around the house all day while Rosanna went with Pat Cluskey to Navan to caddy for her in some golf match – against Rush, I think. I made my bed as usual this morning, exercised, washed, dressed; blue barred Kartel T-shirt, no vest, underpants, navy elasticized slacks with narrow blue striped braces, steel-blue Rival sports socks, chocolate Loake brogues. I wore my Oakmont jacket later on in the cool of the evening. Ate three boiled eggs for lunch, with salt and pepper and “butter.” Finished off with two slices of brown bread (the last of the loaf Anne bought in Connolly’s Deli on Saturday); “butter” and marmalade; a mug of tea. Took a 3 hour siesta. Drove to Bellurgan Service Station where for nearly 8 euro I bought a carton of “butter,” 2 x 2 liters of milk, a sliced brown cottage loaf. Prepared a dinner of salad, cherry tomatoes, pickled onion, olives, a small tin of sardines. Delicious. “Buttered” and put marmalade on two slices of the cottage loaf and ate all with a mug of tea. Lovely. I wore my burgundy Barker brogues to the shop and had a good chat with Carole Markey. “It’s your job to punish people,” I concluded on the role of women. “Well I suppose it toughens one’s skin,” I reflected aloud. Olivia Finegan told me she was buying petrol to cut the grass. “Have you your grass cut?” Carole asked me when Olivia was gone and that’s what started the conversation. No fire lit today. Rang Eamonn and wished him a happy birthday. Rosanna complaining of a pain in her chest? Spent a few hours on the computer. Alan Byrne nor no-one else reacted so far to the link I sent to them of the showcase pictures. Paddy Mac short and churlish on the phone this morning when I rang looking for Alan Byrne’s e-mail address. Felt in good fettle this morning without any aches or pains after the golf. I put on après sun last night and my head was not too badly burnt this morning. I did a thorough washing up before Rosanna came home including the sardine tin, the empty marmalade pot, the plastic lidded container which held the oiled salad in the fridge; and swept the floor of the kitchen. Left out the bin before dark.