My Journal

Prev : Next Journal Entry For,
June 2006

1st June

Officially, the first day of summer. It has been lovely these last few days, cloudy now and again but lots of blue sky and warm behind glass, with a cool breeze outside. I spent the last weekend 'at home', writing and reading. It was the 'Bank Holiday' long weekend, combined with the beginning of half term break for schools, so I opted to stay away from the crowds. Until yesterday, when I set off for the Lakes District, planning to explore Beatrix Potter's home, and the childhood home of Wordsworth. Unfortunately, most of the population of England had the same idea; it was wall-to-wall cars, packed car parks, and meandering pedestrians all through Lake Windemere.

As I wove my way along lakeside, dodging jaywalking day trippers, I did catch a glimpse of the lake, but that was it. The car park near Beatrix Potter's was packed, with a queue, so I followed the directions for another, 2 1/2 miles away, only to find it packed too.

With Beatrix Potter a no-go, I set off to find the childhood home of William Wordsworth. The meandering, narrow streets took me on a Cook's Tour until I eventually found the way out. Of course, it was the other lane and I was forced to go where I did not want to go. I managed to negotiate the loop and found myself back at the same intersection - again in the wrong lane! I got the message then, realising that Wordsworth would have to go without my visit.

I was disappointed, but not overly so, and drove back to Kendal with every intention of exploring that lovely market town. This time I was in luck, finding a parking spot not too long a walk from the town centre.

Walking up the High Street, I passed a number of 'yards' all designated either a name or a number, and I pondered on the origins of this. I passed a narrow passageway, signposted "the New Shambles," and was reminded of York, where Streets are Gates, (Gata, I think, a word brought over by the Vikings for it apparently means 'road') and gates are Bars. A sign pointed down to "Emma's Yard 46", inviting me to lunch. I accepted and walked the cobbled way to a tiny courtyard. The crooked house that faced me was ancient, whitewashed with black trim. The door was split down the centre. I pushed where indicated, and half of the door opened to admit me. Another push and the door opened all the way, to admit those with a wider girth, I assumed.

Inside, rough-hewn, black beams held up the low ceiling. A flight of stairs led to the second floor, and I climbed these to find a vacant table. Here again, were rough-hewn black beams, whitewashed walls, and very small casement windows; Those along one side looked out over the front courtyard, the others over a back courtyard, filled with tables and chairs, and potted plants on a flagstone floor.

After placing my order, I read the history of "Emma's Yard 46" on the back of the menu. The house was built in the early 16th century, I learned. What happened for the next 300 years is apparently clouded in history, but around 1900, it became a plumber's yard.' During this time, part of the downstairs, and all of the second floor, was used as a house. In 1969, it was taken over by the 'George Edwardian' clothing shop, which in turn became 'Lakeland Skirts' in 1990. By 1998 it was an antique and second-hand book store, and finally, in September 1999, was refurbished and became 'Emma's Yard 46.'

Further research later led me to the understanding that 'yards' service a number of dwellings. The parking for the occupants of 'yards' is at the rear of the premises, with pedestrian traffic accessing the houses or businesses via the 'yard entrance' that leads onto the street.

Replete with lunch, I embarked on an exploration of the market place. Here, in a traffic free zone, stalls of various goods are offered up for sale. Mindful of the need to keep my baggage to a minimum, I purchased nothing, but looked a lot. Clothes and nick-knacks were thrown in with produce; good quality items with 'made in china' rubbish. Apart from the accents that surrounded me, it could have been any market in Australia, even down to the entertainment, a band of dubious talent that set up the equipment at the top of the market. I wandered up the narrow lane that was the "New Shambles" and found it lined lined with shops selling antiques, food and books; and, of course, the ever present tea rooms.

During my amblings, I wandered down Branthwaite Brow, in the centre of the market, and came across "The Famous 1657 Chocolate House". NO self-respecting Chocoholic could bypass such a place, so, of course, I went in. There I found an Alladdin's Cave of hundred of handpicked chocolates, gifts (such as hand-ribboned presentation boxes of chocolates), locally made ice- cream, a video of the history of chocolate, chocolate plants (Cosmos Atrosanguineus), a fondue Feast, books about chocolate - in other words, a chocoholic's fantasy come true. Having recently discovered that I've gone up a couple of dress sizes (although I've partly convinced myself it's just that they have larger sizing here) I resisted the urge to buy any chocolate to take away, but I did succumb to the extent of visiting the tea shop, where I indulged in a pane au chocolate (a sort of rolled, chocolate filled pastry, covered with melted chocolate). To ease any pangs of conscience, I ordered an Earl Grey Tea to go with it. I've read that black tea cleans up the free radicals in the blood, so that was a good thing surely! My afternoon tea was served by a young lass dressed in the costume of a bygone era, and my food prepared in the (nearby) kitchen by a pair of German Fraulines, judging by the conversation they had over it, punctuated by lots of giggles. I hope it wasn't me!

Despite missing Beatrix Potter and Wordsworth, it was a very satisfying day. To top it off, I purchased a lotto ticket on the way back to my car. Keep your fingers crossed for me. (And for those family members reading this, yes, the rules still apply here - any win to be shared by all!)

Today I made a final visit to the nearby market town of Clitheroe. Not a market day but still fairly crowded due to the mid-term break. I had a lovely wander around, poking into all the little shops,climbing steep, cobbled pathways, and slipping down the other side. I then had lunch in 'The Apricot Tea Shop'; such quaint names they have here.

This area is known as The Ribble Valley, and it is the largest district in Lancashire, the majority of which is designated, according to my guide, 'an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty' and is known as the Forest of Bowland. The area is dominated by Pendle Hill, where George Fox is believed to have had his vision leading to the foundation of the Quaker Movement, and beneath which the Pendle Witches lived prior to their trial in 1612.

On my way back to 'my' cottage, I noticed a sign for an abbey (the area here abounds with them) and decided to make a short detour. I'm glad I did. The entry was free for one thing, and for another I was lucky enough to time my visit with a group of workmen who have been employed by the National Trust to do some repair and maintenance. They gave me a short, guided tour and spoke longingly of Australia...and the sun! One of them has been there; he said he lived at Randwick for a time and loved it, mainly because he's a horse racing enthusiast. He also visited Queensland, namely the islands in the north. He told me that his job is a dying art, that there are not many left now who know how to do what he does, nor are there many young people willing to learn his craft. He's from Yorkshire (and the Abbey is in Lancashire) and he jokingly said that he has to get his passport stamped everytime he comes over this way. (At least, I think he was joking?)

Without too much encouragement, he talked about the area. Since he was a 'lad' (quite some time ago I would guess) the seasons have changed. It's very rare to see snow at Christmas now, at least, not any that stays on the ground. Once upon a time, according to him, the first snowfall happened in October, with more in November, and by Christmas it was white all around. Now it's just cold, and very wet, with floods every year. The only snow they see is in January and February, and only light falls at that. He also decried the loss of much of their wild-life, and their ancient woodlands, saying that so-called 'progress' has a lot to answer for. I myself wonder if perhaps the changing seasons might have a lot to do with it, but didn't say so. Leaving him to his work, I wandered the site and took lots of photos (Thank goodness for digital!) before heading back to my temporary home.

8th June

My last few days in Gisburn were spent revisiting some of the local towns and villages, and I left my cosy cottage early on Saturday 3rd June, destination Wales. The journey to Rhos-on-Sea, on the Northern Coast of Wales, took longer than it could have but I was determined to stay away from the major roads so I could see as much of the country as possible. Saturday markets held me up, and the sunshine and warmer weather brought everybody out, so the roads were a bit crowded, and the way south doubled back on itself here and there, but it was worth it. It wasn't long before I began to see lots of changes, to the country, which became a lot flatter and more populated, and the houses, which were built of a more pinkish to red stone, rather than the grey I'd seen in Yorkshire and Lancashire. The towns became larger, and subsequently had lots of 'suburbs'.

Finally, I arrived in Wales, the countryside becoming more desolate, flat and windswept, but no sign of the sea until I neared Colwyn Bay. The day was calm, and the sea (or Bay really) very flat. I drove along the sea front trying to find the road my hotel was in and found myself caught in the middle of a sea of cars and people. Because my forward progress was so slow, I had the chance to look around, marvelling at how a glimpse of sun can bring the English outdoors.

The 'beach' area is a typical pebble/shell-grit/dirty sand area, but in this case, lots of mud thrown in and not much sand. The area between sea and land was filled with small boats, tilted high and dry, children digging, and adults sitting on the chairs they had brought with them. Up on the promenade were more people sitting on deck chairs. Those people lucky enough to live on the opposite side of the road had brought their deck chairs out into their tiny front yards, and failing that, onto the footpath itself. The narrow street had cars parked down each side, leaving a narrow passage way that would only permit one lane of traffic at a time. But everyone kept their cool and I eventually found my street and turned away from the sea, and the crowds.

My Hotel, in Abbey Road, was 'quaint', a grand old manor of a bygone era. (www.sunnydownshotel.com). It had promised wireless connection to the internet, which it did have, but because of the thick walls I couldn't access it in my room. But I managed. The lounge was a quiet spot, but when it was not available I would sit on the steps of the internal staircase. I stayed there for 3 nights, mainly because of the easier access to the internet and because it's nearing the end of the tax year in Australia and there were things that needed to be done.

I still managed some sightseeing though, especially while Australia slept. My hotel wasn't far from the waterfront, so I walked all over the town, exploring the gardens, the streets, the different types of archetecture, and the stores. I'd picked up a brochure in my travels that guided those interested on a walking tour of discovery and decided to check some of the mentioned places out. I began on the waterfront, where there's a little chapel that is thought to be the smallest church in the British Isles, seating only six people. Communion Services are still held in the chapel. A very tall person would have to bend their head to enter the gate-like door. Inside, it is cool and dim, the only light bleeding through two very small stained glass windows. The altar was a small table, and three wooden chairs were angled in towards another three on the other side wall. On the floor in front of the altar there is a small grate. (The Chapel is also the site of an ancient spring, or well.)

My next stop was at the sea wall, to peer down at the remains of the foundations of the medieval Rhos Rynach Fishing Weir (only visible at low tide), and then I walked across the road and studied some of the buildings, like the Rhos Fynach Public House and Restaurant; the Cayley Arms (another pub); and a line of old fishermen's cottages with bright attractive gardens. There is also the Aberhod, one of the oldest buildings in Rhos. A sign there proclaimed it as being based on a 17th century farmhouse. The map shows the sea in 1763 as being much further away, which indicates how the sea has encroached on the shoreline since those time.

Back at the sea wall I looked around at the bay. To the east was a headland, a couple of miles off. This, I read, is Penmaenhead, the site of King Richard 11's ambush, and subsequently the end of the Plantagenet line of English kings. After being taken prisoner here by the Earl of Northumberland, he was forced to abdicate and the next year he died (in suspicious circumstances) in the dungeons of Pontefract castle.

The overall smell from the bay was one of mud, with a little salt mixed in. The tide was out and small craft anchored close to shore were like ladies who found themselves suddenly stranded in mud, the water long receded. Tilted over at various and dangerous looking angles, they made a colourful splash against their brown sandy backgrounds.

Most of the places I've stayed in this country (apart from the self-catering) include breakfast in their tariff. The down side is that it is served so late for me, who's up as soon as the sun cracks the sky, which here at this time of the year is about 4am! By the time 8-8.30 arrived I was finding myself famished and ate too much - the full English breakfast, which of course, the English rarely eat. So now I stick to my usual fruit and yoghurt so that I can have morning tea, a good lunch, afternoon tea and a light dinner. With that, and all the walking I'm doing, perhaps by the time I get home I'll have lost a little weight.

I do occasionally treat myself to a nice meal out though, and in Rhos-on-Sea I found a lovely little Italian place and took myself there for dinner one night. The mood inside was one of Romance, which was a bit wasted on me. The waiter looked behind me as I walked up the stairs, looked back at me and raised his eyebrows. "All alone?' he asked. I nodded. The story of my life! I do value my independance but it would have been nice to have someone to share the meal with. A nice meal is all the nicer with some intelligent conversation. And it was a lovely meal. I started with fresh sardines with asparagus and parmesan, followed by pasta in a tomato herb sauce, all helped along with a glass of red. The wine having put paid to an early night, I finished the meal with an espresso coffee.

As I write this, I'm in Ireland. I left Rhos-on-Sea early on Tuesday morning, travelling to Holyhead to take the fast ferry across to Dun Laoghaire. When I found that the fast ferry takes only 1 1/2 hours, I was sold. I had been dreading the trip because I get seasick on a boat tied up to the wharf! The sea was as smooth as an ironed tablecloth and I actually enjoyed the crossing - a first for me.

I saw only a little of Dun Loaghaire - major sightseeing will have to wait until I return to take the ferry back. Again, I was held back because of the necessity of being near my email. Things were finally sorted out so that the tax man will be happy, and me a little less so, but at least all done and now I can forget the business side of things and get on with my sightseeing.

I left Dun Loaghaire at lunchtime on Wednesday, and travelled West. Driving out of the city, I was amazed at the changes since my last visit, 10 years ago almost to the day. Firstly, in 1996 my daughters and I arrived here to rain and wind, a low and miserable looking sky and cold weather. It stayed that way for most of our visit here, but in spite of that, we loved it! (Michelle and I still laugh about a tour we took, around Kilkenny, but that's another story.) In 2006 it's like full summer, with the temperature in the mid 20's and the sky a lovely blue.

But the real changes are man-made. Instead of the countryside I was expecting to see, it's now new roads being built and existing roads widened or extended. The cities are encroaching on the countryside, with new houses springing up everywhere. The countryside did eventuate, just a bit further out, and I still saw a few small villages but I suspect that those not enjoying the new affluence are dying out. Change can be a good thing, as long as it doesn't happen too fast.

As I made my way over to County Clare, particularly Limerick, and then onto Ennis, I noticed that the country looks as green as ever, but not as soft as in my memory. Perhaps this is because there is no mist, no rain. But this is much further West than we came last time so I shouldn't compare. Ennis is larger than I expected it to be - a sprawling market town with a small market square that the town has built out from. As a consequence, it was easy for me to get lost, especially with no navigator to guide me, but, as usual I found myself again and even managed to find the B&B I'd booked without too much trouble.

Glen Cove B & B, at Clarecastle, a few kilometres east of Ennis, is one of many in the area. It's a lovely family home, my room is cosy and friendly, and my hosts are genuine, caring Irish folk.(www.goireland.com)

Because of my late start from Dun Loaghaire, I missed lunch so was all set to head off back to Ennis to get lost again while finding somewhere to have dinner, when I was advised to go to a nearby village instead. Quin is about 5 miles from Clarecastle and is a lovely place, with its own ruined Abbey, which I decided I would explore after dinner. I was so famished! I would have liked to have a meal at one of the village pub's but hesitated to go in alone - it's bad enough in a restaurant, but pubs are usually full of people, as in couples. So, I opted for the Gallery Restaurant instead. A good choice because apart from the lovely food, I was seated at a table in a little corner which afforded me some privacy but still allowed me to view the rest of the room. (All the tables were arranged in such a way that the diners enjoyed this sort of privacy.)

Surrounded by the lovely mellow tones of the Irish brogue, I studied the menu, refusing to look at the right hand column. I decided to skip the starter, (planning on having desert )and ordered the pan fried sea-bass, which came sizzling over a bed of spinach, drizzled with a thick lemony sauce. Served with this was a dish of vegetables, tiny roast potatoes, broccoli, shaved beetroot (or perhaps it was red cabbage), and diced carrots that tasted as if they had been cooked in beer and orange. No wine. I needed to sleep and wine keeps me awake for hours. The desert menu listed 'Banochie Pie' which intrigued me. I asked the waitress, who said it was caramel on a biscuit base, topped with bananas and cream, and drizzled with a sauce. I was sold and ordered it. Worth every calorie (or should that be kilojule.)

After all that indulgence, I had to walk some of it off, and took the path through the old Abbey. It's also the current graveyard. Like many of the Abbeys, here in and England, it is being maintained and preserved by those interested in keeping history alive for future generations.

Back at Glen Grove, I sat outside in the warm mellow evening (still can't get used to how light it is) and read my daily book. Yes, I still manage to read a book a day, buying most of them at charity shops (second hand) and donating them back when I've finished. I was then joined by my hosts, and a neighbour, and we enjoyed some drinks (mine was Baileys of course, but with brandy added!), and some lovely conversation, discovering things about our respective countries that we always wanted to know. Before we knew it, it was midnight, but only just dark. The night had become cold (well, I thought it was but I was the only one) and just right for sleeping, which I did. Like a baby in a bed as good as my own. (The bed at my cosy cottage in Gisburn was lovely, but a tad too soft. In some places, the beds have been atrocious - one was even covered in a plastic undersheet!

Today, after a lovely breakfast, I headed off to explore the area around this corner of Ireland. But before I could do that, I had to find the library and check my email. The streets in the market town of Ennis really do baffle me, and I seemed to be going in circles, so I pulled into a convenient parking area and rushed off to see if I could locate the tourist information centre.

After a lot of twists and turns, trying to memorise them, I finally found it and asked for directions to the library. Clutching a map, and repeating the lady's instructions to myself almost like a litany (a lady and man coming in the door looked at me as if I was mad) I headed out a different door to the one I came in. This was necessary, she'd told me but I wasn't happy about it, worried about my ability to find my way back to my car.

I eventually found the library and took care of my email, and retraced my steps. Well, I thought I did! Needless to say, I was a bit lost but a few kind people sent me in the right direction at last and I found the information tourist centre again. From there, it would be easy! Or would it? Yes, lost again. And now I was beginning to panic a little because I'd seen another car park and a sign that said 'disc parking'. Oh help, did that mean my car was without a disc? Did that mean I would have a parking ticket? That thought spurred me on and I finally found the park and no, I didn't have a ticket. But I did go and buy a disc because I had passed a Vodaphone store and decided that I really did need an Irish SIM card, so my car now legal, I did just that before I drove off.

I drove down to Kiltrush,over to Kilkee, which is another sea town, and back to Kiltrush, which is a busy market town. It and Kilkee are on opposite sides of a point, and of course, on a bay. After morning tea in Kiltrush, I wandered around the town, bought some postcards, and visited the tourist centre. From there, I drove out along the waterfront heading back up to Ennis. The whole trip would take me in a circle.

Just out of Kiltrush, I turned into the "Vandeleur Walled Garden" and spent a lovely couple of hours exploring and taking photos. The home of the Vandeleur's (completed in 1808) has long been removed (apparently after an accident in the ruins) but the garden they established has been redeveloped (1997). It has been redesigned for the 21st century, but laid down around the old path system. It's 2.1 acres is full of bright and colourful flowers and foliage. (www.kilrush.ie)(www.westclare.com)

After all that exercise, I decided that I deserved lunch and ate at the small cafe in the grounds. Even though it was a warm day (a heatwave at 27 degrees) it was cool indoors, so I had a bowl of yummy vegetable soup and rolls, followed by scones and tea. (Why am I suddenly writing about all this food, I wonder?)

From the garden, I continued on to Knock, and then to Labasheeda and Killadysert (as my map has it) or Kildysart (as the sign at the entry into the village declares). Apart from wanting to see this part of the country, the reason I particularly wanted to visit Kildysart is because a friend told me her family came from there. It's a very small village, at the junction of the Shannon and Fergus Rivers, and I could not find a postcard with the name of the village on it at all. The lady at the Post Office sent me to 'Michael Michaels' (a food store) but they didn't have any postcards at all. If that failed, she said to call in at the Drapers, which I did. There a lovely old gentleman brought out a board stuffed full of postcards and proceeded to go through them all, looking for one for me. A half hour later I came out with four cards, but not one of Kildysart. My friend will have to settle for a postcard from 'the general area' of her family's birthplace.

The road back to Ennis was typical of most roads in this part of the country. At all times it is bordered by either rock walls, hedges, or trees, all crowding close to the road and making passing a little breathtaking in places. When there were trees, they formed cool and shady tunnels, and now and again I caught glimpses of roadside wildflowers. Unfortunatley, the only places the 'walls' were broken were private driveways so nowhere to stop to take photos.

Back in Ennis, I parked the car, intending to join in a walking tour of the town at 7pm. It was only 5pm, but my arthritic toe was feeling a bit hard done by; I thought a nice cuppa, something to eat, and a little sit down might fix it. I called into a charity shop to buy some more books first, and met an American lady there. An ex-ballet dancer, She had come to Ireland to work, having been told that she would find employment in the tourist industry. Unfortunately, her information was a bit outdated, so she was having a rethink and had heard of an organisation that teamed up farmers looking for work, and travellers looking for work and accommodation. I told her what I knew of WOOFA and we parted company. Perhaps I'll see her in Murphys Creek one day! I had my cuppa, and read my 'book of the day' until 6.30pm at which time I conceeded that my toe was not going to cooperate and so I came back to Glen Grove for an early night. Tomorrow I head north, to Galway.

10th June

When I left Clarecastle yesterday morning I had no idea where I would be sleeping last night. For the first time on this trip I didn't book ahead. This was deliberate because I wasn't quite sure where I would like to stay, in Galway or out of it, and how long I would want to dally before moving too far north. All I knew was that I had to stop in Galway. It's one of those places we've all read or heard about, a magical place that can't be missed. As it turned out, I arrived in Galway at 11am, deciding on the way that it's not too far from Sligo, where I'll be for 2 weeks from Saturday, and I can always come back down for day trips.

I found a B&B at Merlin Park, (www.auburnhousegalway.com) just 2 kilometres from the city, in what I can only term 'a nest of B&B's'. Someone in the city had some sense and obviously decided that to place all the B&B's in the one area would be convenient. There must be 20 of them around me. My bed set for the night, I went off to do my laundry.

Here in Ireland they don't allow self-service laundry so I had to leave it with a old lovely lady, who told me it would be ready at 3pm. The laundry room was filled with bags of washing and every machine was going and I expressed surprise that she could have it done so quickly. We got to chatting and she told me she'd been there since 7am and would be there for at least an hour after they closed at 9pm. 'I hope they're paying you lots of money,' I said. 'No, and no overtime,' she said. She works there six days a week, and she didn't stop working as she talked to me. I left there knowing once again how lucky I am, to be travelling as I am, not having to work as she does at her age (not much older than me I think), and to live in such a wonderful country as Australia.

Speaking of home, I got to thinking as I drove back to the B&B, of what I miss. Apart from family and friends, I miss: dark starry nights; the deep blue of the sky; the quality of the light; the smell of the eucalypts (which I don't really notice when I'm there!); dinner out with my friends; discussions about books with my book club ladies; the many birds, even the kookaburras and the noisy cockatoos; the lovely fresh local vegetables, honey and so on, and ready access to the internet. (What I don't miss is the sight of thirsty land.)

Apart from pigeons and seagulls, the only birds I've seen here in Ireland is a cute little red breasted bird that makes a sound like two stones being knocked together. I guess that's why it's called a stonechat! But all those things that I miss will be there waiting for me when I get home, so I don't 'pine' for them and am thoroughly enjoying all that's different and new (to me) about the places I'm visiting.

On the drive up from Ennis to Galway, I noticed the change in the landscape. The roads widened out, and the villages all but disappeared, replaced by large towns. But the poles carrying power and telecommunications are the same. I must mention these because they really caught my eye. The poles are thinner than ours, and cut it appears from straight tree trunks that have not been dressed much at all. They still have lumps and bumps and bends here and there. Although their bases are in a straight line, they all bend in different directions, held up it seems only by the cables that join them. Those cables are strung in droopy loops, with every 6th or so pole having metres of excess cable attached to it. They are also host to vines; some are green and lush, the poles they cover looking like Triffids that might, at any moment, up-sticks and walk off! The vines on others are withered and brown, giving the poles a hairy look. In the towns I passed through, I saw, here and there, a new metal pole, bent over at the top with a light attached. Also here and there was a wooden pole with a metal piece tacked onto the top! I guess that the Australian way of 'making do with what is at hand' came from our heavy Irish ancestry.

As in Australia, motorists are warned to slow down when approaching a town, but here they add humour. At least, I think it must be tongue-in-cheek. As well as the speed signs, there is a large S L O W painted in white on the road. A little further on, again in white, is painted the word S L O W E R. Although I am not going faster that the posted sign, I instictively and guiltily lift my foot a little more, so I guess it works!

Back at my B&B in Galway, I settled into my room and looked through the brochures, deciding what it might be possible to see in just one afternoon. It was quite warm - around mid to high 20's - and I didn't fancy fighting my way through city traffic to find a parking spot. There was obviously too much to see and do to fit into a small time frame so I decided that a walk through the city to get an idea of the place would suffice for this time. With luck, there was a bus stop at the door of the B&B, so I left my car and took the bus into Eyre Square. The bus was a brilliant idea (suggested by my host) because it didn't go direct to the city centre but wended its way through Salthill and the outlying parts so it was an interesting trip.

In the city, I wandered through Eyre Square, which is as it sounds, a large square of green surrounded by streets, hotels and shops. It is here, I believe, that John F Kennedy gave a speech when he was presented with the freedom of the city on his trip to Ireland in 1963. A fountain is a feature; shaped like the sails of a traditional Galway Hooker fishing boat, it was erected in 1984 to mark Galway's quincentenary.) At the top of the square is The Browne Doorway, which dates back to 1627. This was removed from an old mansion in Lower Abbeygate Street some 75 years ago, and bears the arms of the Browne and Lynch families.

A major section of Galway's medieval town wall runs through the ground floor of the Eyre Square Shopping Centre. The wall was built by the Normans, who settled on the banks of the River Corrib in the 13th Century. (They built it to protect themselves from the native Irish.) It forms a vivid feature inner-wall of the centre and its curve is followed by a black tiled floor. Medieval looking shops face the wall and there is even a gypsy who will read the tarot cards, for a price of course.

At the top of the square, the road curved around and I found myself in a totally car free zone surrounded by a conglomerate of shops, from food shops and wine and coffee bars, to clothing, gifts, books and so on. And through it all, every few feet, were the entertainers. The Irish fiddle rubbed shoulders with guitarists and flute players, clowns did tricks with balloons, and vocalists belted out traditional Irish songs. The lovely weather had brought out hundreds of people and they walked the streets with me. Photography was difficult - too many people - but I did manage to snap a couple. After a lot of searching I finally managed to find a seat and something to eat and drink, before I continued my explorations.

I had wanted to go and see the house of Nora Barnacle but the cobbled streets were not easy on my feet and I had to leave that for another day. (Nora was the woman James Joyce married. An auburn-haired fiery lady, she was said to be the perfect foil for one of literature's most influential writers.) So, deciding I'd had enough for the day, I walked back up towards the Square, passing Church Lane, where I noticed a little conical stone on the corner of the junction of the lane with the road. This I later found out, is a Jostle Stone, and it's a relic of the days of horses in Galway. The function, of these stones, at the corners of narrow lanes and gateways, was to prevent carriages from cutting corners too find. They helped save both carriage wheel and corner from damage.

Arriving at the bus stop, I pulled out the time-table the lady at the B&B had given me to see how long I had to wait. Within minutes I was accosted from all sides with questions. 'Does the Number 4 stop here? What time does it come? What does it cost? Does it go to Merlin Park'. And some of those asking questions were Irish! Two Chinese ladies, who spoke limited English, attached themselves to me, perhaps hearing 'Merlin Park' or maybe thinking that if everyone was asking me questions then I was the logical one to see that they arrived at their destination. They were dragging a large suitcase each and from their miming actions I gathered that they had just arrived at the airport. They were going to the same area as me, and we alighted the bus at the same stop, with me hoping like crazy that their B&B would be nearby. What a relief, it was just across the road and I left two very tired and grateful ladies at their door and headed over to mine, for a shower and a light meal before settling down to read my book. On the morrow I was off to Blacklion, where I had a cottage booked for two whole weeks.

This morning, after a lovely sleep and a great breakfast (I broke and had scrambled eggs with salmon and french toast!) I said goodbye and hauled my case out to my car, only to discover that I had a very flat tyre!

Before leaving Australia, I'd checked with the RACQ and discovered that they have a reciprical arrangement with many other countrys, Ireland included. A booklet they'd given me (they also gave me a letter confirming that I'm a paid-up member) listed the number to call in each country so it was a simple matter of phoning Dublin (a free call number) and arranging for someone to come and change the tyre. It was only 8.30am so I was politely told that the break-down vehicle wouldn't be there until 9.30am, seeing as they didn't start work until 9am. I was quite happy with this because it would give me time to unload my boot to enable access to the spare tyre. After I did that, I settled down in a garden chair with my daily book.

My hosts saw what was happening and popped out to offer help but they were in the middle of feeding their guests, and had rooms to attend to ready for the next influx, so I said I'd be fine - that help was on its way. At 9.30am on the dot, my phone rang. It was a lovely young lady with a lovely irish voice to offer apologies for the fact that the breakdown van handn't arrived at that time as promised. 'It will be there in 10 minutes,' she said. I was amazed - no way would that happen at home. I do appreciate the service the RAC do, and I've been a member for more than 10 years, and have had occasion to use them only about 4 times, but I certainly wouldn't expect such a call.

Sure enough, within 10 minutes, the breakdown van arrived and my tyre was changed in a very short time. I told the service man that I was keen to have the tyre repaired (the culprit was a large nail) before heading off to Sligo. I was hoping, I told him, that there would be somewhere on the road out, so I wouldn't get myself lost in Saturday morning Galway traffic. His reply? 'Follow me!' So I did, and he drove 10 minutes out of his way to take me to a tyre repair place on the way out of Galway and to Sligo. 'When you leave here,' he said, go back down to the road we just turned off, and turn right and you're on your way to Sligo.' What a nice man. I gave him a hug (he was young enough to be my son) and made him blush. The tyre repair people were just as nice and fixed my puncture immediately. Then also put it back on the car (my spare really only good as a spare) and charged me the grand sum of 5 Euro (about $8 or $9 Australian). Considering how everything here is double what it is back home, I was amazed.

Because of the hold-up with the flat, I was running short of time so didn't get the chance to see much of the country - beyond what was each side of the main road north - on my way to Sligo. I did note that the villages had given way to large towns, and then to even larger towns, and the road were much wider. The further north I drove, the more distinct the range of mountains rearing up in front of me became. In Sligo I found myself caught up in a Saturday afternoon flurry of shoppers, and it had gotten cold and begun to rain. I found a small parking lot opposite an old abbey (can't get away from them!). Of course, I needed a 'disc' to park so had to run off and find a shop that sold them. When that was sorted out, I set off to find the local Tesco (supermarket) so I could be sure to have my cottage stocked up for the weekend. According to my map, Blacklion was about 30 minutes away but there were no other large towns in its vicinity.

The typically narrow streets were clogged with cars, and people wall to wall on the narrow pavements played chicken with them, having to hop on and off the pavements in places to get by. I was directed to an intersection ahead, around which I was assured would be Tesco's. After pushing and shoving, feeling like a salmon going the wrong way, I arrived there, to find flashing lights and garda all over the place. I have no idea what had happened but no-one was taking much notice, so I did the same, continued on in my quest. I've found that shopping in UK and Ireland is difficult because the car parks for the supermarkets is almost impossible to get to if you don't know the streets, and parking elsewhere means you can only buy as much as you can comfortably carry. So, I never use a trolley but stick to a basket; that way I know I'll be able to manage.

Back at my car, I began to negotiate my way out of Sligo down a series of one-way streets. Fortunately, the Irish are good at signage, and no matter where you are, there will be a sign pointing to a particular place or 'all other routes'. If you don't see your destination, you just keep taking the latter until you find a sign with your destination on it. So it was that I eventually found the road to Enniskillen. This was a more rural road and its margins were tiny - between the edge of the road and the usual stone walls, or greenery, was never more than inches. It was also a lot less busy and I enjoyed the drive without constantly having a car come up behind me in a rush, anxious to pass.

Soon I was driving up into the mountains, with breathtaking views revealled every now and again, but nowhere to pull over to take photos. Until, suddenly, I was near the top and there, on my left, a large parking area. The wall - topped with wrought iron - curved out over a large lake below (Lough Macnean Upper). The hills rose high on the other side. The sun came out and everything sparkled. Houses were nestled into dips and hollows, and sheep grazed the green fields, which were divided by hedges or stone walls. There were sheep just in front of me too, heads down contentedly, in a meadow that was filled with tiny yellow wildflowers. The air was crisp, and soft, and the breeze ruffled the water far below. Here was the Ireland I remembered from 10 years ago.

Mindful of my shopping getter warm, I had to leave and continue on, coming to Blacklion about 10 minutes later. I didn't have much time to look at the village but concentrated on trying to find 'my cottage'. At the end of the village, I gave up and phoned the owner, only to be told that I needed to backtrack, the farm being out of the town. I followed her directions, turning up a side road off the main road, and then into what I would have thought was a driveway but is actually a 'road.' My cottage is next door to the farmhouse, both of them with their front doors opening directly onto 'the road' (which by the way, doesn't have a name!).

It's a lovely cottage, with two bedrooms upstairs, and a bathroom up and another down. It has everything I could possibly need for my two week stay and even though 'the road' is right outside my front door and windows, there is little traffic. And the windows are bay, with a shelf wide enough to sit on. Tomorrow is Sunday and I plan on doing nothing more than sorting out my bags, washing, and reading. Time enough to plan my weeks once Monday is here. (I did ask the farmer's wife where the local library is though. She had to think about it and gave me rather vague directions to another village about 15 minutes away. Whether in the Republic or in Northern Island I don't have a clue. (This area is right on the border of the Republic and Northern Island; continue through Blacklion a kilometre or two and you come to Belcoo, which is in Northern Island.)

19th June

I've been here in Blacklion, on the border of County Cavan and County Fermanagh in Ireland for just over a week now and loving it. THe 'road' (more like a shared driveway) outside my front door has very little vehicular traffic passing by, but herds of sheep and cows are a constant sight and sound, but not much smell thank goodness!

Sligo is too far away to revisit; I did it once or twice but it's a difficult place to park and move around in so I've said goodbye to the town there and now go to Manorhamilton (15 minutes away) or, if I want to visit somewhere larger, I go to Enniskillen (20 kms away). I feel as though I am miles from anywhere but Belfast and Dublin are just 2 1/2 hours away. This area is only just being 'discovered' by the general tourist population; up to now it's been known to a select few but a recent push and some publicity by the Tourism Board has seen a rise in visitors.

The shores of the upper reaches of lower Lough (Lake, or waters) MacNean are almost at my doorstep. Lough MacNean is broken into two distinct lakes, joined by a narrow ribbon of water in the middle. Each section is about 13 kilometres in length but less than 2 kms wide. The shoreline of Upper Lough MacNean is broken by wooden promontories in which lie sheltered bays fringed with reeds. When I visited there, there was no wind, yet as I approached the shore and the reeds, they moved, brushing against each other as if welcoming me. There wasn't another soul around, and no other sound.The hills rose up around me, sheltering secrets in their many folds. They are heavily wooded in parts, and so green, with wavy green grass that is dotted with tiny white, yellow and purple-blue flowers. It is a magical place and one can feel the mystery that is Ireland in places like this. (I almost expected a 'little person' to pop up and greet me!)

Lower Lough MacNean is dominated by steep limstone cliffs, particulary one called Hanging Rock, and the table top profile of Cuilcagh Mountain to the south and Belmore Mountain to the north. Blacklion and Belcoo are near where the two parts of the lake are separated briefly. All of the lakes have many small islands and there is an abundance of caves in the hills. (Marble Arch is a famous one, with fascinating waterfalls, winding passages and underground rivers.) A sculpture trail around the lake reflects the local community's hope for peace. And it's no surprise to me that artists and writers flock here for inspiration.

The Erne River meanders lazily across this lakeland paradise, and through the town of Enniskillen. The water is so like the people here; no one is in a hurry to reach a destination. The river fills Lough Erne, and the Erne River and Shannon Rivers flow into each other. All in all, there are 500 miles of waters between Limerick and Belleek.

Enniskillen is rich in history with monastic sites, round towers, an Augustinian Abbey, church ruins, ancient graveyards, celtic monuments and high cross. There are castles, boat clubs, a golf club/resort just being built along with waterfront apartment developments and marinas. So far, the developments haven't encroached too obviously on the landscape. There is an abundance of waterside wildlife, such as Mallard Ducks, Mute Swans, Grey Herons, Coots, Moorhens, the Great Crested grebe, and a very colourful Kingfisher, who has an orange chest and blue wings and hood, with touches of orange, white and black on the head and wings.

There's lots to see and do here but most of it is for the cyclists, climbers, anglers and walkers. I've never been able to do the former, I'm afraid of heights, I find fishing boring, and my arthritic foot limits the walking I can do, but I'm told that they are all given warm welcomes in the villages they pass through, making for "unforgettable overnights and tremendous craic."

At Enniskillen Castle visitors learn about the Maguires, chieftans of Fermanagh who policed the lake with their private navy of 1,500 dugout canoes in the 15th century. The lakes teem with fish and smoked wild salmon is delicious, and cheap. (The name of the Maguire who built the castle was "Hugh the Hospitable"!)

A cruise on the waterbus MV Kestrel takes in the sights, like the ruined plantation castles of Tully and Portora. (In the 1850s truants from Portora Royal School - Oscar Wilde went there - used the castle next door to these for mock military exercises, with unfortunate results my brochure told me. This intrigued me so I planned to take the cruise yesterday, Sunday (the only day of the week it runs) but the weather was too cold and very wet; impossible to see more than a few feet, so I stayed in and read instead. I shall have to see if I can find out some other way what those unfortunate results were!

Today, after visiting the library at Enniskillen to do some more research, I drove on to the Crom 2,000 acre Estate, administered by the National Trust. I arrived there at midday, intending to have a light lunch and then do a couple of walks. Unfortunately, the tea room wasn't open, which they neglected to mention in the brochure I'd picked up. Breakfast had been at six and I had missed morning tea, but what could I do; I'd paid my entry fee so had to settle for a long drink of water and a couple of mints.

The walk around the estate was well worth me going hungry. It was still cold, and there was some rain about, so that kept the crowds away. I only saw a handful of people as I walked around and in most places I could have been the only one there. The walk took me around the Lough through ancient woodlands, past tranquil islands and through historic ruins, all breathtakingly beautiful. I caught the visual essence on my digital camera (came back with 80 photos!) but I wish I could have recorded the smells, and the sounds too.

The air was fresh and cool, with a hint of damp in it. Tantalising whiffs of floral came on the breeze, along with the smell of things dying, and animals lurking. I kept my eyes peeled but didn't catch sight of any of the nesting bats, rare Pine Marten, or even the Purple Hairstreak butterfly! Although I'm not sure I would have recognised the latter anyway.

The wind sighed through the myriad trees, and behind it all was the sound of water lapping at the shore. An ever present chorus of birds called, twittered and sang me through the paths, hundreds of different calls, including the stonechat. Everywhere I looked it was green and more green, with flashes of bright colour - wild pink and red roses, yellow buttercups, thistle, grasses, sedge, yellow and white daisies, orchids, and lots of blues and purples; there was also a yellow flower that looked very like an iris. Is there such a thing as a yellow Iris? I shall have to look that one up.

After the ruins of the old Crom Castle, came the inhabited New Crom Castle (out of bounds unfortunately); a summer house; turf house; riding stables; dragonfly lake; and finally the deer. An hour and a half after I'd begun my walk, I arrived back at the information centre, knowing I'd pay for it all tomorrow.

25th June

Tomorrow I leave John Joes Cottage and head south to Dublin, where I'll stay for the weekend. I didn't get the chance to look around when I arrived in Ireland and don't want to leave without getting a feel for the city I've read so much about. On Monday I take the ferry to Wales, where I'll stay for a week.

I've loved my time in Ireland; the people here are very friendly and also helpful. Apart from getting a feel for the landscape that my father's grandparents came from, I've been trying to carry out some research into their background. This has not been easy, mainly because up to recent times the Irish were not greatly concerned about genealogy; if anyone was to ask them where they came from they answered: "Here". They had no need to know more. It was only when those whose ancestors had left Ireland for places like America and Australia came searching that things began to change. THe change has been slow and piecemeal with (as John Grenham wrote in his book "Irish Ancestors) 'narrow sectional interests outweighing the common good.' Very few of the institutions holding records have even begun the porcess of making them available online and what records there are can be variable in quality. If you search the web you'll find many sites that appear to be possible resource areas but you need to be careful of these. "Leprechauns are a constant hazard"!

Although the Public Record Office in Dublin was destroyed in 1922, along with virtually all the records housed there,some abstracts, transcripts and fragments of the originals survived. There is a compact set of records but you need to start with enough information for these to be of any use. It would also have helped if my family had a less common name! Unfortunately, I didn't begin with much concrete information so it's been a time consuming task. I am also researching the time prior to the 1860s, which are location-specific. It also hasn't helped that that births, deaths and marriages here were not recorded until the 1860s; even then, researchers have noted that a good 15% were not recorded even then!

It hasn't been time wasted though; I did track down one vital piece of information, but I now have more questions. That's the nature of research I guess. To continue my own research would mean living here meny more months. That's out of the question so it may be that I will have to give what I have to a research service and pay them to do it for me. The local history groups have much available but full details can only be accessed via a commissioned search.

26th June

As I write, I'm sitting at the ferry terminal at Dun Loaghaire. I woke this morning to grey skies and leaden seas. Looking at the sea as I drove down here, I wished heartily that there was some other way of getting over to Wales. Of course, I could abandon the car and fly but I'm too sensible and thrifty for that. So I checked in, and again wanted to change my mind but there are signs everywhere saying that once in, no out!

Another look at the sea, which is moving too much for my liking, and I remember a cure for seasickness that a friend sent me recently. It involves finding the best looking sailor on the ferry, sitting on his knee and plying him with whiskey. Trouble is, I forgot the whiskey! Perhaps they'll sell it on board.

Yesterday the weather was perfect. With John Joes cottage far behind me, I'd booked into the Portview Hotel in Dun Loaghaire, and set out to explore Dublin City, just a few miles north. I went on the Dart (train) into Tara Street Station, and spent from 9am until 4pm walking those historic streets. The City Tour buses are wonderful and after staying on one all the way through the city, I made notes and then took it again. A ticket lasts for 24 hours and allows you to use it as much as you like. They say they operate all over the world but only Melbourne in Australia got a mention. You are allowed to get off and on at will. WIth a plan in mind, I got off only at those stops that particularly interested me. Actually, they were all of interest, but one can only do so much in 7 hours!

I had the option of doing a one day tour of the south, something I would like to have done so that I could see with my own eyes what changes have been wrought there since I last visited. But I've never seen Dublin, and a few months before leaving Australia, I read Ian Rutherfurd's "Awakening Ireland" and so decided that Dublin it would be. I looked down a long street directly at the hills that ring the city; I saw the Customs House that was the scene of so much drama; I saw the Post Office, where Patrick Pearse, poet leader of a small band of rebels, read the Proclamation of the Irish Republic to a few, reportedly, disinterested passersby on Easter Monday in 1916. I saw bullet holes in the statue of O'Connell, left there after the uprising. I saw where the Vikings planted a rod, declaring that this was the spot they would build a settlement, and the many fine churches built over the centuries, the various examples of fine Georgian architecture, the many coloured doors with their fanlights, sidelights, decorations and foot scrapers.

I walked the cobbled medieval streets of Temple Bar, and crossed many of the bridges of the Liffey. I particularly liked the halfpenny bridge, so called because it once had a toll of a halfpenny. Our tour guide told us of a couple of men who once approached. One asked the toll keeper if baggage attracted a toll. When told no, the other man immediately hopped on his back. Two for the price of one! I also strolled through some of the many gardens, and saw Ireland's (probably the world's) smallest pub; it will accommodate 20 at a time but only if they are all standing! The tour also allowed for a visit to the Guiness Brewery. Unfortunately, the smell of hops makes me ill so I did not avail myself of this. But it was interesting to learn that Mr Guiness, when planning his brewery, took a 9,000 year lease on the land at 45 pounds sterling a year. I'm sure that he must have had some Scottish blood!

Dublin is known as a city of writers, WB Yeats, Samuel Beckett and George Bernard Shaw. James Joyce also spent some time here and the city still celebrates his Ulysses on Blooms Day, June 16th. Yeats slouches along in perpetual motion as a statue in one of Dublin's parks, while Oscar Wilde lounges elegantly on a large rock, looking as if he's about to slide off. Much to my surprise, I also discovered that another favourite writer, Jonathan Swift, was Dublin born, and was the dean of St Patrick's Cathedral for the last 3o something years of his life. At 9am, when I first began my exploration, the streets were virtually empty of people, so I had ample opportunity to take photos. By lunchtime though all had changed and there were literally thousands of tourists cramming every street and by-way. The only Irish among them were those who, like we from all over the globe, were visiting that marvellous city. Then taking photos became a dance, and it was a sight to see, looking down the street and seeing all these people ducking and weaving in order to find a shot that did not have a head, or an arm blocking the view.

The last section of the tour took in one of the largest parks in the world (perhaps the largest). It is walled, and the wall is 7 miles long. It covers 300 acres and the street that runs though it is lined with trees - Horsechestnut, Beech and Lime. At its entrance are 4 imposing columns, gate posts without a gate hung on them. The story goes that the gates were removed early in the 20th century to accommodate large crowds attending some function. The park keepers did such a good job of storing the gates that they forgot where they put them! The Dublin Zoo is within the park, along with an area known simply as 'the fifteen acres', 15 acres of land put aside for the use of sport groups. From the park the hills that enclose Dublin are nearer, forming a formidible and scenic backdrop.

But that was all yesterday; today I am awaiting my fate. As an Australian, I naturally love water; I could look at it for any length of time, but put me on it and my stomach immediately wants to part company with the rest of me. Anyone who has ever been seasick will understand. You don't just feel as if you were dying - you heartily wish you would! (I've also been through morning sickness and can tell you the two sicknesses are very similar.) I just have to hope that my fears are groundless, that today's journey will be as good as the one over, although on that day the sea was mirror smooth.

Later, well, here I am on board. It's a bit rocky and the stomach doesn't like it, but without any food to come up it's not going to be too bad. The head is a bit light and my eyes have trouble focussing but I'm going to play cards on my laptop and hope for the best. I did try to find a good looking sailor but they're all very busy and I don't dare interrupt one in case his job is to keep us afloate!

27th June

Obviously, the ferry didn't sink and I survived my journey. It was touch and go there for a bit; the fast ferry (costs more but well worth it) lifts up out of the water so if it's not too rough the crossing isn't too bad. My stomach did behave itself, but I was feeling very lightheaded and 'weird' (no comments please!) when I finally and thankfully drove off onto Welsh soil. Perhaps it was the tension, but my head was ready to come off my shoulders by the time I arrived at my cottage "Fron Dirion" here in Llangynhafal, Ruthin, Clwyd. (I have no idea what all of that means, except the Ruthin part. That's the name of the nearest 'town' of any size; apparently quite an historical place. But then, most places here are!)

I've stayed at some lovely places but this definitely has to be the best. The Lancashire countryside was the best landscape, with Ireland close behind, but this would have to rate up there as well.It's definitely 5 star, and I was welcomed with a bowl of real carnations and roses, and a bottle of red; Australian of course, they love our wines over here. Everything I could possibly need, except for food, is here, and last night I slept in a cosy bed that is as wide as it is long.

The cottages (there are two, sharing a wall) were built in 1600's, and lovingly restored. The ceiling in the lounge area is a bit low, but they were shorter people back then. The floor, before restoration, was earthen, with some Welsh slate tiles. NOw it's lovely warm timber, with tiles in kitchen and bathroom. The bedroom is a loft, above the lounge. The views are stunning. It's a rural area (I've tried to stay away from big cities except for quick visits) and again no real road, only a shared 'lane' that is narrow and has high hedges on each side. If two cars meet, one has to reverse up to a slightly wider area (these appear now and again) where two cars can scrape by each other.

Outside my cottage, which has a tiny front yard and a back patio with table and umbrella, the view is of green green fields, distant farmhouses, cows and sheep, and majestic mountains.Lynn (that's a 'he' and he's the owner/farmer) told me that there is a lovely walk up "Mother Mountain" (it has an unpronouncable Welsh name but that's the equivalent English version), with breathtaking views from the top. If I do manage to scale it I doubt that I'll have any breath left to take when I reach the summit. And if this is"Mother", I'd hate to see "Father".

The nearest shopping is in Ruthin, so I shopped for food on my way here. Like most towns and villages, parking is difficult and finding food stores hopeless, but I'm learning. I know now that I can't rely on visual references as I do at home - where a shop looks like a shop and a school like ... an institution. Over here, every building looks like almost every other building. Even the Post Office is hard to find if you're not in a large city. It could be a small agency at the back of a general store, or a counter at the back of a supermarket.

So, I followed the little "P" for parking signs in Ruthin and found the 'short stay pay and display park', where an old lady was just in the processing of attaching her 'display' sticker to her windscreen. I asked her if she could tell me where the nearest supermarket or foodstore was, and if it was within walking distance. It took a good many minutes before I had my answer. She began by saying, 'We don't have Tesco here yet dear. But we're getting it! They're building it now. Not before time too. Now, how much will you be wanting to spend?" When I assured her that cost didn't matter, I only wanted a few things I got another long speil about the two food stores they did have. "The Co-Op is a bit cheaper." I finally got her onto whether I could walk there. "Well, I don't think that would be a good idea, no, especially if you'll be carrying parcels back." So I asked for directions to drive. "Well now, let me see. You need to go down to the roundabout..." then she had to count the number of exits before telling me to take the 4th one. "The one after the Mold exit," I said, having come that way and seen it. "Oh no, don't go to Mold dear. It's the one after." I finally managed to thank her for her help and to stop the flow and drove off. Luckily I'd managed to decipher what she was telling me and found the food store within minutes. Of course, I could have driven further and found the 'cheap' one but I decided a store right here was better than a maybe one further down the road.

It's a little cold today, overcast and raining, but the air is clean and fresh and all I can hear are birds singing. And it's so wonderful to have the internet right here. They are on broadband, with internet access for my laptop, so no waiting at libraries, and having people hovering at my shoulder waiting for me to finish so they can jump into my seat almost before I've left it. Bliss. I have one week of this before I head off to Chester, where I will be working for a couple of weeks. That will be a shock to the system!

Prev : Next