January, slow and fast.

This is what I see  when I am running.

The rhythms of January are always slow notes for our family, it is a firmly not a time for new resolutions mainly because they are so hard to live up too but more of a time of cosy austerity after the excesses of Christmas. A time of more, not less: more home cooking, more making, more plans for the spring, more contemplation and for me at least more running.  Now the next paragraph or will seem like a whinge fest but please bear with me.

Usually I can find much to love in the crisp linear beauty of January, the subtlety of winter's light but this year I have to confess to finding it hard to appreciate life so easily. In part this is due to the increasingly horrible political developments. Here in Ireland we seem stuck between a rock and a hard hard place, Brexit on one side and foulness of Trump on the other. For example, one of our most successful sectors in our unstable little economy is that of our food and drink exports, the Agri-Food sector has risen for the seventh consecutive year to reach 11 billion. However it has been estimated that Brexit has already cost the Agri-Food industry 570 million. This interests me because I feel a deep connection to the Irish countryside, two of my Great Great Grandfathers were farmers. I want to invest a little bit of money in rural Ireland. I want to live in a country were my children will not have to emigrate to get a job.

For far too long much of our focus has been centered away for rural Ireland particularly towards FDI. Rural communities have been worst hit from the economic crash of 2008 and the shortsightedness of successive governments. Such communities and therefor the wider national community can only benefit from a growth in trade. Tourism is another woefully underdeveloped sector of our economy. We had to give up on the house we wanted to buy in rural Donegal, there were too many financial implications that could not be quantified, but undaunted we carry on hoping that something suitable will pop up. We have found a beautiful farmhouse built into a mountain but despite it being advertised in every Irish property website and via an estate agent; it seems that no one knows whether the property is in fact for sale. Least of all the selling agent!

I have also begun the unexpectedly dispiriting process of applying for a job, it seems that my 15 years experience in the bar/restaurant trade counts for nothing as I had the impertinence to take a career break to look after my pesky children.  I have spent the last six tears studying for a degree that qualified me for little except volunteering for a non-profit. Hmmm, groan and moan. However, I have been working out all my frustrations on and in my running shoes and eventually have fallen into a running routine. Well, oh my goodness I am ecstatic! I feel like a real runner. I wish I could adequately explain to you the marvelous post-run feeling when bursts of endorphin fall exquisitely down to a wonderful glow of energized well-being. CT in one of her gorgeous posts describes the lovely 'clean' feeling that one acquires after a run.

After starting the couch to 5k programme ages and ages ago I still have not managed to get up to a continuous 5k however I can run/walk for 7k. This includes the recommended 5 mins warm-up and warm-down either side and the majority of the time is spent running. Next run I must join it all together, of course the difficulty is mainly psychological. For me what is interesting is that no matter what my mood is before the run and admittedly for much of January it has been grey going on irritable with unexpected bouts of tears, after a run I feel tougher, centered, ready to take on what ever life may bring. On the CV I may be an unemployable house wife on the wrong side of forty but when I am running I feel like this, only with better boobs and a top on. 😏

Letting go, Running on. Part. 2

I have to say if you are ever buying a property, there are many things to consider but the most important is to get a survey. My solicitor says that many clients do not want to bother with this additional expense. I can understand this notion, for sure our Old Lady is still standing despite the ravages of the years and the climate. It is tempting to ignore all the cracks and let your imagination furnish and indeed burnish a dull reality. A survey will certainly bring you down to earth from your giddy joy with it's impersonal conclusions. The survey is catastrophic. Rising damp, damp ingress, wonky chimneys, wet-rot, dry-rot, undefinable boundaries on conflicting maps, a septic tank on third-party land, possibly polluting and only just registered. Family members suck in their breath and subtly warn caution, of great difficulties ahead. Mr S and I initially feel sadly relieved.

I read the surveyors report over and over, I understand the extent of the undertaking. A builder friend warms of hundreds of thousands of euro. Our solicitor firmly advises us to walk away. We both agree, that survey was the best few hundred quid I ever spent.  But she irritates me when she asks, what do you even see in that house, sure you could just build a nice new house. This is absolutely not the point and my contrary side rears up. The Irish country-side is littered from Malin Head to Mizen Head with one off homes of dubious architectural value at best and an affront to logical demographic planning at worst.

Due to the deep fissures of history and the impact of poverty and emigration we retain so very little of our vernacular architecture. In rural areas such as Donegal, the majority of people would have lived in two or three roomed cottages. Houses and homes that are now barely recognisable as suitable for modern requirements. As a sop to tourism, we have kept a couple though -zoned them off into 'folk parks'. Little quaint remnants of how our Great-Grandparents lived, to visit with the kids on a rainy day and fondly remember from the serenity of our open plan bungalows, from the warmth of our wifi -ed modernist kitchens, while in damp fields other such houses fall softly back into the ground. I trawl the internet looking for a comparable house, trying to establish a value of the Old Lady once restored. I can't find one because there isn't one. Unique. I engage a damp-proof expert to estimate the cost of remedial repair.  I know I am irrational, but there is room to breathe in this house, for the children to play outside unsupervised. My running takes on a new urgency, pounding the pavements gives me an achievable goal to dwell on. To my astonishment, I easily complete the psychological barriers that was Week 5, Run 3 of Couch to 5k: I run for a continuous 20min along the river and then run all the way home.

The estate agent did say it would have been one of the finest houses in the area, a family of school teachers lived here. In response to my solicitors due diligence request for proof of planning permission, the vendors solicitors writes that his Granny built the house in the early 1920's and his mother would sign an affidavit to that effect. The garage used to hold his fathers buses. Of-course I want it more now. The professional expects that I have employed to help us in this enormous financial decision are worth every single euro, their advice is measured and sound. And yet.

The condition of the roof un-quantifiable until close of sale. The potential infestation of wood-devouring beetles.  I look again at all those optimistic photographs we took at the viewing, the house still doesn't look that bad. The two realities don't marry up, is the plaster a paper- thin veneer barely supporting an un-salvageable house, a frustration of vastly expensive conundrums? In my minds eye, I revisit the still empty rooms, my footfall firm on the floor, sketching their lines and re-drawing their beauty. I haven't yet made the fateful phone call to the agent to withdraw from the purchase, she is still mine for the moment. The sign still proudly announces 'sale agreed'. I could have her if I so choose but at what cost?

Letting go, running on. Part 1.

It feels like I have sat down at my computer to write a thousand blog posts since the last one but yet have produced and posted nothing of interest. I have to admit to have been somewhat preoccupied and this preoccupation has left me at times terribly busy and at others numb with boredom. Inert with the effort of drawing down the patience for waiting. Inert with the fear of hearing bad news. It appears that following one's dreams takes a little bit of effort!

Let me explain myself a little better.  While on holiday on Donegal, myself and Mr S found ourselves madly in love - with on first appearances a beautiful shabby old lady, a century old house in a stunning location. In fairness, the estate agent did say on the 2nd viewing, So all the work doesn't put you off? No, we laughed as I ran my hand over the stunning marble art deco fireplace, aware that the room I was standing in had walls crumbling and fragile with damp, the high plaster ceilings criss- crossed with delicate wooden batons which lifted the room height visually even higher but stained with water.

The kids ran around, mad excited eejits,  at once picking out bedrooms and planning to play hide and seek in the gardens and ride their bikes along the quiet country road. Little O planning on going fishing on the river that runs parallel, E where she would put her desk under the eaves. I could see clearly past all the neglect and decay, I could see great over-stuffed sofas, book-lined walls, generous window seats with views out over the mountains, the clink of glasses and the chatter of all the guests we would have to stay. Comfortable bedrooms, a roaring fire and long lazy breakfasts. A proper country retreat. All it would take was a little bit of effort, sure hadn't we done this all already with our own house?

We put in a cheeky offer. Accepted with thanks. A builder came round to check out and cost the rebuild of the wonky chimneys and the source of much of the damage, Affordable. He said, Aye it is a fair enough house for having been left. Brilliant, we said, here is where the kitchen will go, we will put an en-suit there, we can't wait to pull up all the old sodden carpets and pull the peeling paper completely off. Delighted we asked ourselves, will we even bother with a survey?

What we did last summer.

Hello! I have been away from this space for so long it does seem like a novelty to be blogging again. Thank you so much for those of you who popped in while I was away and encouraged me to get back! I can't tell you how much that means. The last few months have been very very busy but thank-fully the last couple of weeks of August signaled a long slow decent into a lovely summery laziness. But where did September come from - I can't believe it is nearly finished? The weather here has been so lovely it has been a little shocking to be plunged back into the Monday to Friday school routine and feeling the season turn away from the sun and into Autumn.

So, the big news is I finished and passed my degree with a respectable BSc 2:1 which is a higher second-class honours. I finished my last paper on the 31st May and didn't get the results till the 7th July and I can tell you, the waiting was excruciating! By the end I was crippled with compulsive email, Facebook and course site checking and updating, so the relief was palatable. It is indeed a pity that I did not finish my degree when I was 24 instead of 44 but there we are, I would not be the person I am now if not for the choices I made. Better late than ever eh? I am going up to Belfast in October for the degree ceremony and cannot wait to get all decked up in the cap and gown and be presented with my degree from the 'Graduate Presenter' and whoever else represents the Open University at these events. I know it is all rather silly but nevertheless I feel compelled to have my five minutes of swishing around like a proper academic and get my photo taken in a stupid hat. The kids are super exited about it especially as we will be staying in a hotel and seeing the Egyptian mummies at the Ulster Museum. I'm going to have a celebratory pint in The Crown. I think I have earned it.

So it is sad to say goodbye to the summer - but we did have fun. We...

Celebrated Aunty Momo's beautiful wedding. Congratulations M &S!!!xxx

Gave the kids their first festival experience at Vantastival 2016.

These guys below are the brilliant Candlelit Tales. This month, 28th & 29th  they are in the Stag's Head in Dublin (re)telling some of our classic Irish myths and legends for the Autumn with their own brand of charismatic delivery and musicianship

Vantastival was held at the gorgeous Beaulieu House and is a sweet little boutique festival which is very family orientated. We particularly loved all the kids events in the magical walled garden.

'Discovered' the stunning Lough Ramon, Co Cavan. There were no filters used on these photos, everything really was that colour on that perfect summers day.

At last we found ourselves on the Wild Atlantic Way in amazing Co Donegal. Now, in the past I have been guilty of completely ignoring this part of Ireland in favour of the more famous, perhaps more touristy spots like Galway and West Cork but as the late great Ian Bank's remarked in The Crow Road, "Sometimes things only come to you gradually." Inexplicably, the fates have conspired to raise Donegal from a dim consciousness of a remote unknown northernmost county that hangs off the edge of Northern Ireland into a gripping obsession. Donegal is really a state apart, it remains part of the historical and legendary province of Ulster but politically partitioned from the UK entity that is Northern Ireland and geographically detached from it's own political 'home' the Republic of Ireland. 

Unfortunately Donegal you are also the home of the national embarrassment and country music treasure that is Daniel O'Donnell! Daniel is, I would admit is a somewhat unique performer who appeals to a very particular demographic and was celebrated for hosting an annual massive tea party for all his fans at his Co Donegal home. His relationship with his fans was brilliantly and hilariously parodied in the sublime Father Ted episode, The Night of the Nearly Dead.  Donegal was just not that appealing. Anyway, I digress, however for almost a year, for some reason this place has been following me around, friends have been sharing pictures of glorious deserted beaches all over social media all in Donegal, By accident, I stumbled across Sharon Blackie's beautiful writing especially 'Falling into the land's dreaming'. In between all that the news was full of  the next Star Wars being filmed on Malin Head, the highest point of Ireland and Charles and Camilla popped over for the weekend.

Then, I was researching material for a short story idea and wikied up the gorgeous Glebe House, home of the celebrated English artist Derek Hill (who also tutored Prince Charles) and just in time for my birthday I heard Maggie O'Farrell talking about her inspirations for her latest book 'This must be the Place' and that was it! Of course we just had to go exploring. It was too spooky not too! Here is a smallish (self-indulgent) snapshot of what we found there:

Narin Beach.

I could live here.

Glenveagh National Park:

Glebe House

Wee Library at Glebe House. This place is one of the must see places in the county for art lovers, interior designers/historians and people who just love atmospheric houses. The website does give a good flavour of the riches contained in the house. E who appointed herself camera woman for the day was given special permission to take some photos of the interior -usually completely and utterly forbidden-but was so over-awed by the whole experience she did take a single frame! (Much to my chagrin.)

Slieve League Cliffs

Foothills of Slieve League.

Have you ever been to a place for the first time and it has felt like coming home? This is what this holiday felt like. Maybe it has something to do with those soft Northern accents, maybe something about the quiet friendliness and easy hospitality of the people. I don't know but I hope that I will be back very soon. I have a hopeful plan. To this end you can now find me on Instagram @linnetinoriel and chuckle at my amateurish attempts to get to grips with that platform.

Thanks for staying with me till the end, I hope I shall be back here very soon too. Take care and have a great week. xxx