winter 2010

Isn't winter wonderful? Clean, fresh, crisp...



it's almost enough to have you forgive the egg sized bump formed on the back of your head after slipping on the ice on the pavement.

the last of it

a lane

yesterday

Yesterday I went for a walk. Several walks in fact. I’d just spent a few days in Dublin with a friend. I love Dublin, as cities go it’s one of the good ‘uns. It’s busy in right way – energetic and vibrant. Eating great Moroccan food served by beautiful Romanians in the Irish capital with a wonderful friend visiting from Wales; watching Italian cinema surrounded by film lovers of indeterminate nationality… It was a joy. But after a time, even a short time, in a city I long for the crowded emptiness of the countryside. And so I set out for a walk - four walks in fact.

Walk 1: The beach. Ballycastle is an odd little town perched on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean. I walked the length of the beach there, and marvelled at the fact that on a gloriously clear day I virtually had the place to myself. Besides a young family flying a kite and a middle aged man collecting pebbles (why?) I was completely alone. Besides the huge growl of ocean colliding with land, and the cry of a thousand gulls, it was silent. Apparently I was the only person in the country not out trying on costumes or making final adjustments to their pumpkins – well, one of six people anyway.
I used to teach in Ballycastle. I miss it. The combination of the craic I had with my pupils and the inspirational view from the windows of the ocean made my classroom a joyous place to be.

I love the sea – I miss it intensely when I leave for any amount of time. Yesterday I stayed till my face was bright with exposure and my mind was clear of… well, just clear. My afternoon was spent breathing in the fresh air and watching the sea batter rocks and gently caress the sand.

Walk 2: The moors. I moved on south to the heather covered hills leading to the majestic Glens of Antrim. My feet, already sharing my shoes with sand from Ballycastle Strand, became itchy with broken off bits of the course heather. I remember hiking up here when I was a teenage member of the Boys’ Brigade. Back then I cursed the spongy sensation of the ground beneath my feet. It seemed to force that little bit more effort out of every step. Of course back then I was carrying my own weight of tent, clothes, emergency food and pot noodles on my back. Today I was able to walk where I wanted, when I wanted, and if anything the whole experience lifted a weight off my back.

Loughareema, the vanishing lake, was clearly not vanished today. I have a vague recollection of hearing about researchers dying the water in an attempt to discover to whence the water vanished. I can’t remember if they came to any conclusions or indeed whether I made the whole thing up in my astonishingly flexible memory.
To me it makes no difference. The magic of the place does not lie in the water level.

Walk 3: The pastures. North Antrim has some extraordinarily fertile land. I don’t know whether this area, a few miles inland, could be described as such or not – but it is beautiful. My father worked in this area for the Department of Agriculture for years. He has many crazy tales of the characters he met in the course of his career. I wonder if characters like those are still being created or whether they are a dying breed like the smallholdings they cared for. I stopped to have a long conversation with a rather erudite sheep. His opinions of Sarah Palin were intriguing though I think his fear of Polar Bears may have clouded his judgement slightly.

Walk 4: The Town. After all that fresh air my body ached for toxins. The only way to satisfy it was to go somewhere with car exhaust fumes and freely available caffeine. And so I made my way to the nearest town – Ballymena. In many ways this is a typical Northern Irish town – its divided population and sporadic sectarianism are in direct contrast with the hospitality and friendliness of those you met there. Sons of this little town include Timothy Eaton (of Eaton Center fame – where I first discovered the delights of Calvin Klein Contradiction for men) and Liam Neeson (who seems equally at home as Scottish Warrior or a Jedi Warrior)
The streets were oddly empty today. Vaguely reminiscent of the beach I found myself sharing the area only with some police officers. Police officers with torches, checking every dark corner and grating; police officers on bikes, police officers in cars, police officers with dogs, police officers with big guns – lots of police officers with guns. I tried to work out what was going but was at a complete loss. It was surely an overreaction for the Halloween festivities that evening. I found out much later that there was to be a homecoming parade for our local regiment, the Royal Irish Regiment. They have done tours in Iraq and have only just returned from Afghanistan. The tight security was because of anticipated republican protests and a fear that things could turn nasty.
As it turns out everything passed off relatively peacefully.

I was glad.

I have my own opinions about how valid the various wars involving our soldiers are – but I was mortified that a homecoming parade could be hijacked either by Irish Republicans opposed to everything that the British Army stands for, or by Loyalists eager to turn the situation into a reason for Catholic bashing. Such an event should be removed completely from politics. If that’s possible. Such an event should be about the relief of family and friends that their loved ones have returned, remembrance and mourning those who have not returned. Such an event should be about the human beings that have risked everything – not for the politics that put them in that position.
Tensions are still apparent in this little country of ours. There are still people on both sides spoiling for a fight. Sad to say there are still people here who miss the troubles. But maybe things are slowly changing. And as fewer people have strong memories of that, the darkest part of Ulster’s history, maybe they will find things to share rather than searching for things to fuel the feud.

And there's no denying - it's a beautiful wee country and it shouldn't be spoilt by the people that live there.

downtown ballywatt

we don't have many shops - but the ones we do have their priorities firmly placed.

gratuitous sunsets II

It’s been a while since I’ve had a gratuitous sunset shot from my back yard. I like this one – it seemed alive the way it kept changing colour and shape. The most frustrating thing is that it became even more glorious, with huge beams of molten gold shooting high above the horizon – by that time I’d put the camera away – so you’ll have to take my word for it.

coleraine in the snow

when i open my curtains

A gratuitous shot of the sunrise from my window ... because I think it looks good and because I can.

gratuitous sunsets

A gratuitous shot of a sunset from the back of the house... because I like them and because I can.

my little black gate

By weekday a teacher; by weekend a gate painter extraordinaire.

Do you find it odd that I take such pride in having painted the gate to a small field of potatoes a very dark brown colour? I'm not really sure why it feels so good myself - it just does.

It took far longer than I had anticipated, the paint is some evil concoction that is refusing to leave my arms despite lashings of turps and soap and it involved sitting in a rather large puddle of mud - but it's done and I think it looks good.

The sheep seemed impressed, and they ought to know their gates pretty well - they've escaped through them often enough.

early 2007

looks very similar to late 2006

now that's not something I thought I'd see

Every so often in this strange dander through the daisies that we like to call life some thing happens that makes you stop for a minute and go "Now that was odd"

In my case it was whilst I was browsing the web reading reviews and checking out the photos from the Casino Royale premiere in London. This one photo managed to throw my mental state such that I forgot all about what I was going to be teaching next period - and to breath for several minutes.

Actually I exaggerate. Paris and Judy - although apparently very different people - move in similar celebrity orbits. They were bound to collide eventually. Dame Judy Dench got there by being an extremely talented actress who has worked a life time of labour and consistently produced amazing performances on stage and screen (As Time Goes By notwithstanding) - Paris Hilton fought hard as a competing sperm twenty six years ago to be born an heiress. Thousands didn't make it - she should be congratulated.

I feel a little bad for Paris sometimes. It wasn't her fault she was born rich. It wasn't her fault that she never experienced what most people consider a normal upbringing. It wasn't her fault she had a sleaze for a boyfriend. Yet there are people out there who have created web sites ridiculing her, berating her, and even flash games where the player attempts to kill her. A slight overreaction perhaps. The girl isn't the brightest, nor the most compassionate, nor the most witty... but she's hardly a serial killer.

As for that photo; well, actually there is another PH image that shook me to the core in a much more disturbing way...