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Oatmeal, Barrow, Ascended, Overloaded
Friday 18 June 2010
Well I think I got up out of bed around 08.00 and without a siesta I did not retire until 23.30 having had a busy day. I dressed this morning in blue Greenore semi-polo T-shirt and vest, grey 42” slacks, oatmeal cotton working socks, working boots (which I kept on until bedtime). I used my Oakmont jacket for outer wear in the evening. Called on Oliver Dullaghan. His mother’s name was Matthews and his grandparents are buried in Ballapousta. He showed me different fabrics and gave me two burgundy colored samples to take home. I liked the one with a spiral motif and wonder of wonders Rosanna agreed with me. Oliver called at 13.30 and took away my Parker Knoll. He said it would be a few days. “You’d never know; I might have it ready tomorrow night!” I carried on from Bellurgan into Lidl. The young manager brought me down to where the white trousers were on display. He gave me a 46 pair to try on and took my 42 pair from me. I fitted the 46 pair on. Tight; but not too tight? So I took them with me. The assistant at the checkout gave me back my receipt. Bring them back if you do not want them he said or something to that effect. Very professional and very German. I did a bit of digging around the twisted shrub opposite the front door. Roots but the soil was loose enough. Rosanna lifted the weeds into her barrow as I dug. I sweated in the mid-day heat, paused now and then, drank water, got the job finished. When I cooled down a bit I mowed the front lawn with the mower on a high setting. Rosanna gave me a substantial meal of tinned herring in tomato sauce, salad, Tagliatelle with lots of pesto. When I finished the plate I took a second helping of pasta emptying the pot. Padraic Treanor called at 18.40 and we delivered 22 letters from Jenkinstown Cross as far as Fidelis’ house. Met nice people including Myra Duffy, Mrs Tuohy, Teresa Quinn’s daughter and her husband, Tom Flynn’s sons and one of their wives, Maura Duffy. Invitation to Fr. Padraig Murphy’s silver jubilee on 28 July 2010. Rosanna and I sat in the bar in The Crowne Plaza from 20.30 until 21.00 when we ascended in the lift up to the diningroom on the 13th floor. She drank a glass of red in the bar while I polished off a bottle of sparkling mineral water. Warm inside. I took off my Oakmont jacket. We were given a table overlooking DkIT and the setting sun streamed in from a few degrees west of the direction of Slieve Gullion. Rosanna ate chicken supreme; I ate sea-Bass with tomato salsa. Roast small potatoes. Chips. I stuffed myself. I mean I really overate and the food was delicious helped by a large chunk of a juicy lemon. We shared a chocolate fondue between us. Rosanna drank two more glasses of house red. I drank an orange juice. We both finished with coffee. The drinks downstairs cost over 7 euro and the total bill in the dining room was 69 euro. Short German waitress. Intense and vivacious. She talked a lot to Rosanna. She got a 9 euro tip. The young manager, a Pole, stood at our table a long time speaking fluently and eloquently about the differences between Poland and Ireland, workmanship and buildings in Ireland and Poland, his plan to return to his native land. I meant to advise him to go into politics but he was no-where to be seen when we left the dining room around 23.00. I did not stay up long. My stomach was overloaded and my energy was gone. Washed my 5 ½ remaining teeth, brushed my dentures, went to bed at 23.50.