Sean's Space

Sunday 3 July 2011.

Attended breakfast and meeting in The Strand starting at 10.00. Ate a lot of butter with my toast and marmalade and thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast. Dermot Mooney and Dessie the others. Nuala joined in to the discussion and Jim Halligan sat down for a while and talked. We were batting the breeze about suicide prevention. I carried on down to Greenore golf club where I played in The President’s Prize (Scobie, senator) with Brian Farrell and Joe Finegan. I was totally outclassed scoring 99 – 14 = 85. Joe; 88 – 12 = 76. Brian; 83 – 8 = 75. Drank a pint of iced water in the bar. Joe was drinking a pint of beer, or was it cider? Brian was having a sandwich and he complained eloquently to me about the price. He was charged much less at a Dublin golf club earlier in the week. I took a shower and had a chat with Jack Burns in the showers. Before we went out to play (Tee-time; 12.49, for me) Jack approached me about DkIT. His daughter is interested in employment there. I did my usual thing, “The front door; not the side door or the back door.” And I more or less indicated that my opinion is that DkIT is a dump in the absolute sense. Changed out of my silver Robbie slacks, white short sleeved T-shirt, into long-sleeved Ralph Lauren semi-polo white golf shirt, black “legal” freshly laundered slacks, black FootJoy golf socks. I forget what shoes I was wearing. It may have been black HushPuppies brogues. A summery day. My upper arms were red from sun. House empty when I got home. Rosanna invited over for coffee by Eleanor. Assembled a plate of cold mash, baked beans, boiled ham, sliced tomato; and scoffed it. Also ate an orange if not two. Well my energy was low despite drinking plenty of water this evening. I could stick it no longer and retired to bed at 20.30. Woke after mid-night sweaty under my duvet. Ate weetabix, sliced banana, milk. Journalled in my robe and pyjamas. I may have washed my teeth at this stage. Took the duvet off my bed and replaced it with an old plain woollen blanket and the coloured Spanish blanket. Lay on in a state between consciousness and dream for the rest of the night and into the morning. Cherry red sky over Dundalk Bay at 05.00. Depressed in the evening my mood mellowed when I got some sleep and I was happy from 12.00 until 03.00. Joe birdied 9 and 13 playing perfect golf. But he added up my score wrong. Chat with Pat McParland before I went out about Richard Boyle. “Gentlemen, may I propose a 10 ball.” Pat sitting at the paralysed computer when I was going in to the shower room. “I broke it,” he exclaimed, “the numbers were too big!” I think he scored 90? I used a variation of Richard’s dictum about weather for the beach rather than golf. “It’s a day for your deck-chair at the beach rather than golf.” To a few different people. My conscience is no longer bothered about repetition. Jack told me a 79 year old over two rounds won the captain’s prize in St. Anne’s this year.