secret garden

By freespiral

Cadogan's Strand

Irish lesson this morning, totally exhausting. We're learning how to do shopping - so far we have been learning the chat necessary before you even think about making any purchases. The general approach is: Tóg d'aimsir, a bhuachaill, tá neart ama agam. Which sort of translates as: Take your time, boy, I've no rush on me.

I then nipped into Schull to pick up a watercolour we've had framed. The framer exists in an Aladdin's cave, piled up with frames and paintings and bits of frames and paintings of every size and shape imaginable. Two other customers were crammed into his tiny studio plus a small yappy dog. We all admired each others frames and gave assistance when the card machine wouldn't work (it still didn't work even with a lot of advice).
 I stopped off here at Cadogan's Strand just because the light was so good and I like the lone tree growing out of the rock. A woman was collecting seaweed and a man was collecting rubbish. This is colour by the way.
It's arthouse and chips shortly. Tonight's offering is French: Pupille, or In Safe Hands . It looks a bit more promising than last week's. 

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