The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Monday, April 20, 2009

day among days

Morning, woken by nephews prodding me with light sabres.
George Lucas has a lot to answer for.
Aunty Mary's cockerel crowing outside.
Sun burgeoning over the heartland.
The loveliest day of the year.
Tempted to stay in bed.
Nephews not encouraging that option.
Got up.
Breakfast with Paddy Pup.
Washed car.
Fed birds.
The full menagerie.
Chaffies, blues, stars, goldies, crowkins and daws.
Also known as chaffinches, blue tits, starlings, gold finches, crows and jackdaws.
Even a ragged scald crow joined the party.
Could he be the same scald crow I rescued from the greyhounds in 1976?
I think he could.
Paddy Pup doesn't like the crows but he'll tolerate the others.
Cherry trees in the garden of my father in full raiment.
Cousin arrives and has coffee with me.
She says: "You're very focussed on the evil in the world. But just by looking at those around us, like Uncle Bernard and Uncle Jim, I can believe more in the good. I am trying to save the world two children at a time."
Nephews entered and brought me back to the garden for a game of football.
Then it was Dublin for a rendezvous with the three amigas.
These are three Spanish au pairs who are teaching me to focus on the forces of good.
Coffee in the Stephens Green centre.
Stroll on Stephen's Green itself where young Dublin was disporting.
Mass at the church of Saint Mary in the Maughans on Clarendon street.
Home by dark.
Heard the Dad negotiating with Miss South Korea on the phone as I arrived.
He was repeating through gritted teeth: "Who are you?"
Hyunjin was having trouble telling him.
"I'd say that's for me Dad," sez I, taking the receiver.
Hyunjin wishes to book another lesson of English for which she will pay me 30 lids.
Aha.
I bet the Johnston Press are sorry now.
She's sex on legs.
I should be paying her.
Arf, arf.
A little louche English teacher/sexist/Johnston Press humour there.
Hilarious, no!
Email from Bianca Bianco. She's working for Il Mattino, an Italian national newspaper. It's a big job. She's finally pulled it off.
Phoned Hodders and somewhere along the way told her Bianca's news.
"Whitey White," pronounced Hodders grimly and without admiration.
Whitey White being a rough translation of Bianca's name.
Cooked up rashers for dinner.
The Mammy passing the kitchen called out: "I'll have an ould rasher son. And maybe a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea."
Phoned Doctor Barn while cooking.
Went for a night walk with Paddy Pup.
Watched a bit of a British television quiz called A Hundred To One with the Mammy.
Also a less objectionable than usual Southpark.
Showered.
Shaved.
Bed.

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