Honey; Grey Silk; Buttered Baguette; National Anthem; Renew
April 15, 2011
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Thursday 14 April 2011.
Went through a full routine this morning; tea, toast, butter, honey; made my bed; exercised; showered; dressed, clean underwear, Tricot Marine plum-striped shirt, silver Robbie slacks, wine and green braces, grey herringbone Magee tweed jacket, grey silk tie with and angled narrow stripe, fawn non-elasticised cotton socks, chocolate Loake brogues, glasses. Met Kevin McGeough by arrangement in The Terrace Bar, Ballymascanlon, where we drank coffee. He paid. He told me about climbing up a ladder and taking a phone-call while cleaning out the gutters round his house. I told him about Michael O’Hanlon falling off a ladder and breaking his leg in three places. “If I wrote about him I’d be in jail!” I remarked in reply to something Kevin said. Also Maurice Roddy’s brother. “It’s a recipe for disaster!” I concluded, “Reflexes at our age are not what they were when we were younger.” I bought over €30 of groceries in Tesco LWSC including a pizza, bananas, oranges, bread, corn flakes, baguette, toothpaste, Lynx body spray, a bottle of McGuigan white for Briege Treanor. Purchased a clock in Flowers and Things from a young lady called Begley. She gave me a little over €2 discount and reduced the price to €10. I showed it boastfully to Connie McMahon when I got home. However when I put a battery in it the second hand moved alright but the minute hand was swinging loose completely off its bearings. Connie took the clock apart as far as he could but could not get in to put the hand back in place. I ate some buttered baguette, 3 pieces filled with cheddar and 3 more filled with tinned salmon. It assuaged my hunger but did not keep my paranoia completely at bay. Connie was on his way from Dublin where he had a scan in St. Vincent’s yesterday. I showed him my car and the bed outside the front door where I sowed the Sweet William seed a few days ago. I invited him to return and stay maybe to play golf. He showed me his golf bag and his trolley in the boot of his grey Mercedes. Everything clean and tidy and ship shape. Anyway he pulled out carefully for Donegal. I hastened in to Flowers and Things with the clock wrapped up the way Connie left it and a battery in my pocket as Connie had advised. They were most apologetic in the shop. A girl went upstairs and brought down two boxes and gave me a brand new clock from one of them. She even put in the battery for me and got it going. I was chuffed and relieved. A crack in the cover of my near side headlamp? So my paranoia did not abate completely. But I was well-dressed so my confidence was good. I took a siesta. Dressed again and went up to Briege’s with my lamp, the bottle of McGuigan from the fridge in a plastic bag, my Fuji FinePix 9500. John Finnegan had rung earlier. Lambing. Trouble with foxes, etc. So I knew I had to lead the session. Things started around 20.20. All three books there. Gospel for Palm Sunday. Fr. Larkin; Patsy Treanor; Maura Traynor; Bridie White; Carmel Hughes; Sheila Reynolds; Michael, Teresa Rice; Briege Treanor. Low-key session which went well the routine now established. I took a group photo afterwards. “If you don’t stop distracting me, Bridie, I’ll burn my backside on the range!” I remarked and clicked the shutter for the one and only time. Luckily the photo turned out to be presentable. Carmel took one with me in it and the rest of the group. Not so hot. There seems to be a golden rule to make the first shot count? I left Fr. Paddy Larkin over the road with my lamp because the big public light at the cross is still out. That was around 22.00. Briege pulled out the stops tonight giving us rhubarb pudding and cream; tea; sponge cake with cream filling; sweet cake. I complimented her when I was leaving. “You have to do it: you have to keep the flag flying!” I remarked. I did not say so but, rightly or wrongly, I was proud of the way Renew went in general this time. Rosanna calm and friendly when I got home. Earlier she told me about the war between Aisling and some of the journalists in TG4. “A shower of fucking eejits from Cork that could not even sing the National Anthem.” That was how I referred to Ceoltóirí Cualainn as part of the argument/discussion. Not a cool review. More something based on the way I was feeling. Paranoia? My energy was high after Renew. Played some Bach on my Philips mini Hi-Fi. I ate corn-flakes, milk, sliced banana. Drank coffee. Donned my pyjamas, brushed my 5 ½ remaining teeth, cleaned my dentures, opened the ventilator on my bedroom window, climbed back into bed; around 01.00. Slept almost immediately. I had eaten a feed of pizza and salad in the late evening followed by a large juicy orange.