It’s been a week since we started the move from our rental property to our new house, and what a week! Being the second time we have moved country we are used to the hard work and logistics that have to be put into place. The when you move country is you often have to move twice, once into a rental and then again into the home you buy.
RD and I were talking the other day about how we have basically been packing and unpacking in some form for seven months this time: Montaigu France – Gite in France- Rental Cottage in Ireland- New home.
But I’m not complaining because we have learned a lot from this part of the adventure, not least for me, because I have learned that whilst I think we need to do X life will show me we need to do Y, and this time I listen.
The start of decorating the bedroom
I was convinced we needed to decorate our bedroom before our bed came yesterday (that’s another story!) and bless RD he duly starting stripping the wall, but we had deliveries every day, on top of actually loading our van with stuff from the rental and driving it across the mountains to our new home, often through snowy wonderlands.
The oven in our new home looked as if it had something growing in it! Needless to say once the huge delivery of white goods arrived on Saturday that was a priority job for RD, along with fitting the washing machine and so much more: moving the fridge 4 times (women of the world will understand), putting the Hoover together, and the bed when it finally arrived, and the coffee table….
As well as decanting the boxes and boxes of stuff we have acquired and brought with us I have been busy ordering essentials, like crockery! Nearly all of our worldly goods are in France with no sign of when we can have them sent over, or collect them. But as most of them are going in the garage they’re not a priority for now, but it does mean we have to buy many essentials all over again.
I have also been busy arranging rubbish collection (not automatic in Ireland, it’s collected by private companies) and arranging internet, and deliveries. To say we’re tired is an understatement.
The front gates and gate into the paddock had to be covered in wire to stop the Welshies getting out, that was our first job, carried out by RD on the first day we started the move in the snow and sleet. When we finally spent our first night here on Saturday, sleeping in the floor, we had been driving a total of 15 hours in round trips back to the rental. Add the final trip on Sunday when we went back to pick up our final bits and clean the cottage RD had wracked up 18 hours of driving and we still had another full van to unload. Followed by another night of sleeping on the floor!
I have limited internet, it’s hit and miss with the 4G on my phone, so pictures will be few for now, but I will do my best to keep you all in the mix. RD and I really feel that this little house is home, I think we all feel that.
Moisy
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We’re finally on the move. Our contract has been signed, the ten per cent deposit has been paid and we’re just waiting for all the dots on the I’s and crosses on the T’ until completion.In the meantime our vendor has allowed us to move into the house pending everything going through.
It’s exciting times, not least these two will finally have a garden, albeit small to start with, to run around in with no fear of other dogs.
Harley and Wiglet, our babies.
Eventually RD will open up the half acre paddock you can see on the side of the property. But that’s a little bit off for now. So far it’s been busy just getting what we need together to move in.
When we moved from France we came over with virtually nothing, all of our treasured belongings left in France in anticipation of moving them over. But sadly in this world we live in that has proved exceptionally difficult, what with tests, lockdowns, and isolation! Meaning we will move in without our stars, cherubs, and hearts, along with step ladders, and basic utensils for the kitchen which will need to be bought.
We have been busy buying: lamps, sparkly lights, rugs and sofas. Add to that all the basics you need like a fridge freezer, microwave, washing machine and it all begins to become quite scary, but also very exciting.
Our New Bedroom mmmm lots of work to do.
We have a beautiful super king size bed in France, but on Saturday we took on board ‘living in the here and now’, in that our bed is not here, and we need a bed now! We also finally accepted that our super king bed would never fit into our small bedroom, not unless we rip out the wardrobes which offer a huge amount of storage; it’s not feasible. So we bought a new king size bed, and the wardrobes are staying. Trust me when I say that the wardrobes are going to have the mother of all facelifts and the crystal doorknobs have already been ordered!
We will make room for the super king bed one day. I live in hope.
We had the conversation on Saturday about thinking realistically as to when we can retrieve our belongings, and how buying new things makes us realise we had still packed too much stuff to bring over to our new life. I think we may be letting even more things go.
The van is packed for its first three hour round trip to our house, including coal and logs so that we can light the fire when we get there. The oil has been ordered and should be delivered tomorrow, all good because the house has been unheated for at least two years, and it’s blowing a hooley with snow at the moment, so to say it’s cold is an understatement. Luckily we are not moving in until next Sunday hopefully it will be warm by then.
I wrote in 2015 that we had one more house left in us, now it looks like we have one more. #Excited.
Rosie
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RD and I are getting restless. Ever the home-makers after twelve weeks of living in our rental we want to move on into our own house and start to build our lives.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for this lovely little cottage we are renting. The landlord is so lovely, and the crofters around us have been so welcoming and friendly. But it’s not our home, and with our things still in France I have tried to make it as homely as possible buying some things we will need for our new house and using them here. I love our pretty crystal lights, currently on our bedside tables, but probably destined for our new living room.
Having always been a homebody there is of course nothing like a cushion or throw. The animals love them too…
Kittens on our day ed in Montaigu Wiglet in her old French Antique Cot, it didn’t make the move to Ireland.
Sadly most of my cushions are in France, and some didn’t make the move, so I brought some throws and cushions with us, as many as I could shove under the dogs without their heads touching the roof of the van! Knowing we will need some more I bought some from trusty Ikea, and I have made the living room as much our own as I could.
But it’s not home, no cherubs, no pretty curtains, no bed with crystals or little stars, no vintage French mirrors.
Home
As those that read my blog know the views here have been nothing but breathtaking, and we count our blessings for the opportunity to live here.
But before we moved here we used the lessons we had learnt: in not letting our hearts run away with us, and we drew up a list of our ‘idyll’ for where we wanted to live. With one of the biggest things being that we didn’t want to be in the middle of nowhere. We need to work, we want to work, we have realised that we don’t want to retire, yet, so we need to be nearer to where work is available. We also wanted to be near amenities, but still in the peace of the countryside; where we are now is literally at the tip of a little peninsula, surrounded by sea with a fifteen minute drive just to get out onto the main road, stunningly beautiful, but also remote. There is always a compromise.
All of that has served to re-enforce that we want to be near to a community, including shops, pubs (of course!) and a hub.
Carrickfin Beach and Donegal Airport.
Look at the picture above and you will see a small road on the right hugging the coastline, follow that road up into the outcrop and we currently live at the very end of that little outcrop on the left, literally right by the sea. You cannot even see the house we are so far out. It really is a spectacular place to be, and for a short stay or holiday I personally don’t think it could be beaten. But to get to any main town to work you have to drive almost an hour and a half up through the mountains, so it is impacting on finding work because once our current address is seen we would probably be excluded due to the journey. (Although I think that may be life trying to tell us something.)
Add to all of this that we are surrounded by houses on all sides, as is normal with crofts, it also means that there are other dogs all around us and Wiglet is constantly on a state of high alert. She had a bad start in life, put in a pound with other dogs who beat the crap out of her, so being able to see other dogs in our garden from all angles is her idea of a nightmare. We are stressed because she is stressed and we need to de-stress her.
Wiglet and her Wonky Smile
Poor Harley has constantly been on a lead when we take him out for nearly four months and we can see that he is depressed, which is hardly surprising given that he had the run of an acre of land in Montaigu
Harley, Waiting Patiently
So it’s time to move and things are on their way, more to come……
Rosie
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I don’t do being ill well! I have always been of the ilk that I just get on with it whenever I can. Staying in bed when I am ill just makes me feel worse, and whenever possible I have got up and got dressed. But…..
Way back in 2014 I was walking on our decking, which was about three feet off the ground, a plank gave way and my right leg went through it. I cannot begin to tell you how much that hurt. On inspection RD could see how the plank had worn and got out his trusty tools to fix it, and I left him to it. That evening, as the World Cup Opening Ceremony was under way and RD was ensconced on the sofa with a beer in hand, I went back out onto the decking to check my baby cucumbers and went through the exact same piece of decking again! By now the pain was excruciating and when I then saw RD’s trusty tools still there on the decking I cannot begin to tell you what I called him, or should I say screamed at him but I am pretty sure that it had the word ‘fucking’ in it! I refer to this incident as the ‘the time RD tried to kill me.’
Over the course of that year I went to the Doctor at least five times and each time I explained (given that I am a qualified aerobic teacher, although looking at the size of my arse you would never believe that now!) that I thought that the injury was muscular and not joint related. But I was ignored and sent for many x-rays on my knee. In the end I gave up and put up with the niggling pain and intermittent swelling of my leg. That was until Christmas of that year when I danced a little jig and found myself in so much pain that I had to crawl up the stairs to bed that night. It was enough to drive me back to the doctors where a newly qualified doctor actually listened and referred me to a physio, hurrah!
The physio was great, pronounced that I had basically squashed my psoas muscle, pushing it up my leg and he gave me a set of exercises which I promptly did. He was brilliant and also gave a fab arse massage, much to RD’s distress who asked my friend Mary if he did the same to her when she visited him, and when she said ‘no’ RD looked at me as if to say ‘see he doesn’t massage her arse!’ It might have had something to do with the fact that she had a shoulder injury. 😂
Alas I had to leave physio after only three months because we moved to France to our beautiful but wibbly wobbly garden on a hill. The unevenness of the garden combined with lifting heavy loads then proceeded to aggravate my leg more and more as each year went by. I found I couldn’t walk down the stairs unless it was sideways like a crab, but I put up with it and just sucked it up, trying to ignore that it seemed to be getting worse and worse.
Eventually I looked up why I had such a pain in my butt every time I walked down the stairs or stood up, and found that it was highly likely that I had not only damaged my psoas but also my piriformis, one of the smallest muscles in the body and one of the most painful if it is damaged. The good old piriformis runs across the sciatic nerve, or sometimes the sciatic nerve runs through the piriformis, but needless to say when the muscle swells the pain is excruciating. Carrying things aggravates the piriformis, heels aggravate the piriformis, uneven ground aggravates it, in fact sitting aggravates it, walking aggravates it, basically if you have piriformis syndrome (and all my symptoms pretty much tick all the boxes) your well and truly up shit creek without a paddle.
Like I said I don’t ‘do ill’ well, so I just got on with it, looking up stretches which helped and just soldiering on. But then the move from France to Ireland was basically a game changer what with lifting heavy items, and going and up and down stairs with them; add that I then I decided to get fit when I arrived in Ireland: walking at least a mile and a half a day (who wouldn’t with the fabulous views around us?) I basically pushed the injury too far.
I was losing this fight, but still I carried on: I bought a hiking stick to try and help when we had to just step onto the beach, because I couldn’t even step on the beach! Something that RD found so hilarious he took photos of my trying to climb up onto the dunes.
A few weeks after these photos were taken I actually bought myself a walking stick in Lidl because I couldn’t walk around the shop I was in so much pain, and I’m not going to lie at that point it started to get to me.
That’s why I haven’t been blogging or writing in any way, because in the end the pain was constant no matter what I was doing I couldn’t actually think straight. I couldn’t even walk my beloved puppies around the garden. Add to this RD got a short term job and wasn’t here so I persevered hoping to God that the dogs didn’t pull me because they would simply pull me over! Poor RD he was working all day, driving a long drive to and from work, doing all the shopping and then walking the dogs.
For me the biggest thing was how much chronic,constant pain begins to affect you mentally. You literally cannot focus, terrified to move but still in pain anyway and I began to feel old, and trapped, despite the excitement of our new adventure. Out here on a peninsular with no car, not even being able to walk outside my own front door, was awful and I thought of a lovely lady I used to care for who was in a wheelchair and I understood how important her daily trips were to her more than ever. It was an eye opener for me, of how people live with this all their lives, and I was grateful for my strength and counted my blessings that I would fight this.
Ever proactive (I won’t be beaten, although there have been times over the last four weeks when I thought I was) I looked up more stretches and exercises, and despite the pain I was in I made myself do them three or four times a day. I sat on a hot water bottle, religiously, and I booked an appointment with a chiropractic, who although she was incredibly rude and a bit dodgy she massaged exactly where the pain was radiating from and over the following few days the pain began to subside. I took note, and now I get RD to do massage the same place, now his job has ended, and he realises that the physio was doing exactly what he was meant to do.
I am now eighty per cent better. The pain is not constant, but I persevere with all the exercises and stretches and know that this is what I will have to do from here on in, as well as attend a chiropractic probably once a month, or at the least a masseuse ‘. I still cannot lift anything even remotely heavy, or walk my beloved puppies, because it may well aggravate the muscle again, and my hamstrings and knee ligaments are sore from the pain that had been radiating down the back of my leg for let’s be honest at least the last three months.
I am going to try as of today to walk with the dogs whilst RD holds the strong little buggers, wish me luck.
Rosie
More to come now I can think straight
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There are thirty mountain ranges in Ireland, with glen’s running down through them. The word glen comes from the Irish and Scottish word ‘gleann’ and means a narrow valley, more often than not with water cascading down through it cutting through the rock as it goes. We are currently living near the Derryveagh Mountain range in Donegal. My understanding is that it is the Bluestack mountains that we will be able to see from the house we are hoping to buy, which is good news as far as I am concerned.
I have written before of my love of the glens. When I was a very young child we would visit Ireland on holiday, and whilst my dad helped his brother on his farm I would play with my cousins in the glen that run past the side of their farmland. There was a small stone bridge that straddled the freezing cold sparkling water as it ran down from the mountains to meet the sea, and we would all congregate under the bridge on warm sunny days catching tiddlers and then letting them go. It is one of my favourite memories of my holidays in Ireland.
The glen of Aherlow which run past my uncles farm
Ever since then I have always been fascinated with the beauty of the glens, as they catch the light and take it with them to the sea.
The last time I was in Ireland before moving here, was thirty-six years ago when my dad brought the whole family, including boyfriends of the time, to visit his family. I can remember walking up what I think were the Galtee Mountains and along the edge of the Glen of Aherlow; the further you walked up the mountain the bigger the glen was in places, sometimes a raging torrent angrily hurtling down the hills, as if it really didn’t want to leave it’s surroundings but compelled by some sort of magic to keep going anyway. The sun was shining and the glen was at it’s most magnificent, a watery jewel that only nature could create.
The glen of Aherlow in the mountains
My partner at the time had a terrible wound on his hand, he had caught it with a grinder and took layers of skin off and it just wouldn’t heal. My dad told him to place his hand in the freezing pure waters of the glen and hold it there. His hand was healed before the holiday was over.
My Beautiful Boy Harley
For those new to my blog, of which there seem to be quite a few so welcome, our Welshie Harley has always loved water, and especially the light that sparkles on it. There was never a moment of peace when our pool was in place for the summer, no laying in the water and relaxing because Harley would just be stood up beside the pool barking incessantly until you splashed him, and he would then chase the sparkling droplets all around the garden. It was the same with the hose, he just loved it.
Harley at the Pool Harley chasing sparkling water courtesy of daddy
It was one of the things that broke our heart when we took it down for the last time. But we comforted ourselves that he would love his life here.
Harley had a terrible health scare back in 2017 when he nearly died. Since then we have always been afraid that it would have affected him in other ways, add to that he is not getting any younger and it is always a worry.
Towards the end of last year we had another health scare with him, which resulted in me being in tears for a whole weekend until we decided to ‘wait and see’. But one of the things that I said at the time, through the tears was that I just wanted to get Harley to Ireland, and for him to see the beaches, and more importantly the glens, with their sparkling magical light that I knew my boy would love.
I was not wrong.
Although we have not been able to go into the mountains for walks due to the dreaded lockdown we have been able to experience some of the glens as they finally meet the sea; and Harley, like his mummy, has absolutely loved them.
We have visited a town near to us where the glen finally runs free into the sea, gurgling hysterically as it’s journey finally comes to fruition. Harley could not resist getting closer to take a look.
A few weeks ago we went to the long beach near to us, and there was a small glen trickling down to freedom, because we have not been able to get into the mountains we showed it to Harley, it was one of those moments that makes you smile.
I cannot wait until we can go into the mountains and my boy can finally stand in their healing waters. More to come on this subject.
Rosie
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The cold is here in Ireland, along with most of North West Europe, but so far we have had only a flurry of snow.
Today RD had an appointment and I was here with the puppies, meaning we walked down to the beach alone. Well apart from the little Jack Russell, who I have nicknamed Fannie Annie, who has decided that she wants to walk with us most days. Wiglet tried to bite her initially, as is normal for our insecure little dog, but Fannie Annie was far too fast for her and in the end our little fat-arsed Oompa Loompa gave up and called a truce.
Wiglet with Fanny Annie,, whose keeping a safe distance
There is nothing like walking in the biting wind, the kind that stings your face, to wake you up and invigorate you.
Winter On The Beach In Donegal
Nature really is a fabulous thing.
When we arrived on the beach the tide was out, and I found myself surrounded by stark winter colours everywhere.
With the dunes taking the brunt of the wind the beach felt calm and the sun was warm on my back, a timely reminder that despite this cold Spring is on its way.
Winter in Donegal
I count my blessings every day.
Rosie
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Our possible new home, and yes the land comes with it!
Buying a house was one of our priorities after arriving in Ireland. RD and I have always been home makers, we don’t do well without a house that is ours. Many years ago, just after we married I had to sell my previous marital home and we moved into rented accommodation. Luckily our landlady was a gem, and allowed us to decorate and make some changes, but it’s not the same as being able to make big changes or hanging pictures, or shelves.
Luckily we were blessed enough to have a guardian angel who allowed us to buy her house at a time when prices were rising faster than dough. Trust me I am grateful for that every time I buy a home. But that’s not to say that we haven’t worked bloody hard renovating properties, and making them our own, to get us to where we are now.
A selection of our homes over the past twenty years
We love to pull things together and even now we’re not afraid of hard work, but we also know that we’re not getting any younger so with this in mind and due to my leg injury we both agreed that this time we wanted single floor living.
In the early autumn we sat down and each wrote our idyll of what our next house would be, it was a helpful thing to do, enabling us to stay focused this time round and not allowing the romance of a building take over our decision making.
Learning from previous decisions we wanted somewhere that was in a quiet location but within walking distance of community and the pub (of course!) In addition we didn’t want too much land. So by the fifteenth of January we put in an offer for the semi-detached bungalow in the picture at the beginning of this blog, and it was accepted!
It is a tiny house, but has plenty of potential with a half acre paddock at the side, a courtyard and scope to develop if we want to. Situated in a small community it is also only two kilometres from a village with enough pubs, shops and amenities that we can walk to; it is also only seven kilometres from two large towns, and half an hour from the biggest towns in Donegal, whilst also virtually on the border to Northern Ireland, meaning more job opportunities.
In the beautiful county of Donegal and only thirty five minutes from the beach, it holds all we need, we knew that location was essential. We have loved living near the beach, and so have the Welshies, so easy access to the beach at weekends is important for us, but it was also important to be in a quiet place, but not too isolated.
The deposit has been paid, so hopefully all will go smoothly and quickly. It will be the smallest house we have ever lived in, but we know it will be home.
Watch this space. But for now we will be enjoying the here and now.
Rosie
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Since living here I have realised how little we actually walked when living in France. Having just under an acre of land the dogs had enough space to roam, our road was over 2km long, and after you’d done that walk often it became a bit boring. So we became a lazy, just sitting under the trees in our then garden, and looking out over the beautiful view.
The View From Our Garden In France
It’s been cold here since our arrival in Donegal in Ireland, so at times our walks have incorporated wild wild winds, or mizzle (a mixture of mist and drizzle, the name coming from Cornwall) or just bracing cold in bright sunshine, and sometimes in the setting sun.
A Wall of Wave on The Wild Atlantic Way Donegal Ireland January Sunset On The Wild Atlantic Way Donegal Ireland Welsh Terriers OnThe Beach In Donegal Ireland January Sunset On Carrickfin Beach The Wild Atlantic Way Donegal Ireland
Now we are renting a house where the grounds are not secure, so we have to take the Welsh Terriers for a long walk every day. But there is no ‘have to’ to be fair, because when the colours in your surroundings seem to change every few minutes, and your scenery is mountains and beaches, and the ‘Wild Atlantic Way’ we don’t need any encouragement.
Snow Capped Mountains in January in Donegal Ireland
After every walk we come home with our faces stinging and pink from the cold; and despite often being sopping wet (this is Ireland after all) we feel invigorated. We have even downloaded walking apps onto our phone, and in the last week I have achieved over twenty five thousand steps and burned off over two thousand calories. It is good for me because I have an injury to a very small muscle in my arse, it’s chronic and I’ve had it a number of years, but the walking is strengthening my other muscles, although we have decided that I need a walking stick to help me get up the banks on the beaches, and to climb some of the dunes. Who would have thought such a small muscle could incapacitate you to such a degree! But I am undeterred, you have to keep going.
Eregal Mountain January In Donegal
Today the mountain range was covered in snow, which blew in last night. There we were on the beach looking at the snow covered mountains.
The dogs absolutely love their beach walks, and Wiglet who used to be terrified of our swimming pool in France, is in awe of the sea. She stands, like King Canute, barking at the waves, commanding them to go back. Then hilariously keeps jumping and looking back as the creep up behind her, as if to say ‘They’re following me!’
Wiglet Commanding The Waves
No matter how cold, both of them run in and out of the surf, and stand facing the wind, ears on alert. It really is a simple thing that we love in these difficult times.
We love living here.
Rosie
Winter Sunset Carrickfin Donegal Ireland
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Last week we decided to find the beautiful long beach that our landlord had told us about. Off we went, sailing past the turning and following the signs depicting The Wild Atlantic Way
The weather was blowing a hooley, pouring with rain, with intermittent strong blasts of driving sleet, it was a joy. Really it was a joy! I am loving every bit of weather that blows our way, in the same way as I embraced every season and what it had to offer in France. I am doing the same here, with the different colours of the sky and sea. But on with my story…
We arrived at a small beach where there was a sign that said ‘No Swimming On This Beach At ANY Time Of The Year’. That should have been a clue! There were people walking on the beach, well in fact they were just leaving as we started to make our way down the wooden walkway onto the beach.
At the bottom of the stairway were a collection of small rocks, with a glen trickling into the sea, which you had to step over, or through if you had your wellygogs on like me. I stopped to look at the waves running back onto the rocks, trying to ascertain whether the tide was coming in.
This beach really lived up to the title of ‘Wild Atlantic Way’. The storm was blowing around us and the waves were pounding the beach, with some literally the size of a house.
Yep! That’s a wave!
RD had made his way onto the beach in front of me, and as I watched the waves run over my wellygogs, they went from covering my toes to coming halfway up my boot, in one wave! I shouted to RD ‘The tide is coming in, we need to go back’ as the third wave came to the top of my boot. He looked at me as if I was mad until he saw how deep the water was becoming, and as I turned and made my way back to the walkway he started to come back, reigning the Welshies in on their leads. But Harley’s lead jammed and as RD was pulling him back manually a huge wave came in and just took RD’s feet out from under him, literally. It pulled Wiglet’s lead and dragged her back into the sea, luckily she managed to scramble onto a rock.
The rocks now filling with water
I had turned round just in time to see it happen, it was so fast, and RD was just laying there, with his back to me, with the waves building up to come again, and I knew we were in trouble.
My immediate reaction was ‘Oh my God!’ But as the wave went out it also pulled RD’s tracksuit bottoms and pants down (thank God we were the only lunatics on the beach!) and I confess as I scrambled back across the rocks a little giggle escaped from me, and although I was terrified I was struggling not to laugh as my husband lay on the beach with his arse on show.
By the time I got to RD he had managed to get up, but was soaked from top to bottom, and was covered in sand. Wiglet was fine and just ran up to me but Harley was still halfway up the ever diminishing beach. I took Harley’s lead and pushed a very shocked RD towards the steps, as I pulled Harley back. I could see RD was in pain, he had hurt his shoulder because as he fell he hit some rocks (with his arse hanging out!).
As we got back to the van I looked back and the whole beach had been covered by the huge crashing waves. It had taken less than four minutes and we had been lucky. RD insisted on driving home, and refused to go to the hospital despite being in pain and unable to lift his arm. I am not going to lie, once we were safe, despite my best intentions I could not breathe for laughing every time the picture of RD on his side, with his arse hanging out came into my head. I’m blaming it on nerves.
The next day Wiglet decided to run at something whilst RD was holding her lead on his injured side, pulling his shoulder so hard it cracked and popped back into his socket. Who knew she was a nurse as well as a naughty terrier?! RD’s shoulder is now fine.
Revenge is sweet: my arse as taken by my husband!
So as they say revenge is sweet. As I wrote in my post about our walks I have a chronic injury in my piriformis muscle in my arse, it makes it very difficult to step up, or push myself up. Yesterday we went for a long walk on the beach and followed it all the way round getting to a low part of the bank where RD said ‘Oh look this has even go a foothold for you.’ Now the problem is as I said my injured leg cannot assist my other leg in either pushing or pulling myself up. So there I was stuck. As I tried to get up instead of helping me RD stood behind me taking a series of photos of my dilemma (and arse) and crying with laughter as he did so.
As I tried to get up, hearing him laughing I started to laugh, not good for a woman of a certain age who has had children!
So I suppose the moral of this story, in such dark times, is see the funny side, and don’t take life so seriously. We don’t and we feel all the better for it.
Have a good Sunday folks.
Rosie
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The last time I came to Ireland I was twenty-two years old. I came with my family. I remember the craic, I remember the scenery, I remember how welcoming Irish people are, I remember walking up the Knockmealdown Mountains and looking out at more than forty shades of green, but I realise now I was too young to really appreciate the atmospheric scenery, and just how magical this place is. It really is a magical land.
We are finding our feet, as is always necessary when moving, let alone changing countries. Add the dreaded C-19 into the mix and it is difficult, but we can still get some shopping, and on Friday we went to the local larger town near us, Dungloe, to stock up. Of course we took the Welshies with us, they are still too insecure to leave them, I mean the cat’s haven’t even come out of the bedroom yet, other than to eat and hide in cupboards!
So off we set on yet another charabang outing which also involved taking the Welshies for a walk.
One of my all time memories of Ireland are the freshwater glens that run down from the mountain. I promise I will write of them often, not least because I have promised my Welshie furry son that I will show him the sunlight sparkling on them. Since he was ill late last year it has been my motivation through all this change to take Harley on the Irish beaches, and to the glens up the mountain. But on Friday we found a pretty little part of the town where a glen ran gurgling and bubbling into the open arms of a small bay.
I was so excited to find it, and it was absolutely stunning to watch as it ran into the sea, so beautifully lit up by the late evening winter sun. And just to make things really perfect we had a lovely chat with Finnola, who was so excited to tell us it was her birthday tomorrow.
The Glen Running Into the Arms of the Sea
We just stood at this bay, watching the light change, and as it did so everything else changed, as if a faerie was painting the land and sky in front of us.
Sunset in Donegal Ireland
On the way home I asked RD, who trusted me and came here having never been here before, what he loved. He said the scenery, the atmosphere, the friendliness of the people, being able to just chat to people and on and on. Eventually I stopped him and asked what didn’t he like, he immediately responded and said ‘nothing.’
Rosie
Sunset in Dungloe Donegal Ireland
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