I made a half hearted attempt to book a holiday the other day.
As I suspected, everywhere is either fully booked, not being let this year or being used by the owners for themselves and their friends [selfish bastards]. So it looks like yet another year of pretending we are somewhere exotic while shivering and staring at the rain on the windows.
Where the fuck is this Warble Gloaming we keep hearing so much about? Apparently last month was the coldest for some considerable time and this month so far is determined to be even colder. I nipped out to the garden earlier to fill the bird feeder, and I’m still trying to get warm again. The wind out there would go through you for a shortcut and it is really fucking cold, by May standards anyway. We had a series of hail-storms yesterday that left the garden all white and frozen. I can hardly move around here for all the pot plants I have had to bring in from the nightly frosts.
If it weren’t for the leaves on the trees I would swear it’s November.
I’m not sure I would want to holiday in Ireland anyway. What I crave is warmth and sunshine and considering that it’s trying to snow here at the moment I have lost faith in the Irish climate. I crave the warmth of South West France. I long for the sound of crickets as I tuck into a plate of Confit de Canard avec Frites. Frankly I would settle for anywhere I don’t have to have the central heating running all day.
I came across this photograph on the RTE website the other day:
It’s a photograph of a photograph of a photograph, if the caption is to be believed.
They say it’s Austria but by the end of this year I reckon it will be Ireland.