Read stretches of an interesting book down in Mayo called Windings of The Moy (with Skreen and Tireragh ) written by a Rev James Greer (sp?) republished by the Western People p’haps in 1987, since my Granny had dated it with her name. Written in 1927 I think.

Greer was an insomniac who took night wanderings along and about the River Moy. His one on the abject poverty and evictions in Foxford fascinated me, but mainly his last piece Thoughts on insomnia took it to the bridge for me.

Recording this, naturally enough, at 3.30am.

Oh you would.

you would.

Oh God you would.

you would

Oh I’d say you would

I’d say you would now

Would you?

It was bloody gorgeous the weather chez mammy, even les vaches thought so.

Annie et Tess

Reckles..

Reckles

Yesterday we spent some hours helping in my ma’s bog, stacking or making reckles.

Calm, invigorating, backbreaking work. The Bog is a very peaceful place to be.

The sequence by which the turf will co-operate is kinda fascinating and when you turn it it’s curious. Lumps of pink granite in some sods.

All hail to the Hardy Mayo women!

Shovelling shite

me and me boots spent the previous day shovelling shite from the yard and the barn and on. Could barely keep pace with my extraordinarily strong and hardy short but powerful mother.

Was having a raucous natter to a fella whose a shop in Cabra about how he deals with the high level of junkies and the like robbing his shop.

Let’s call him Barney since I never asked his name. Barney produces a sizeable baseball bat.

“What’s dat?” He says.

“A baseball bat?”

“No, he says, “it’s an argument diffuser”

He tells me he keeps nine knives behind the counter, so I ask to see them and for a demonstration of how he employs them.

“Well,” he says,” When they demand money, I say hold on and I’ll get it for you now, I reach over here lift them up (he demonstrates with serious looking meaty implements.. and emerges with two huge knives above his head)… “and I tell them take it out of that (or take the change outta that.”

In a lengthy conversation he and his employee explained you cannot seem a soft touch or they’ll come back and rob you repeatedly.

He kept employing the word mill as a verb as in to mill. I mill them he’d say mean he’d give them as severe battering as he could manage with his various tools. I give them a milling. We mill them.

He said he never calls the guards prefers to deal with them on his own terms, which are once for all don’t come back.