It’s been quiet here as we hung around the house and tended to middle child. Honestly, I would not wish wisdom tooth extraction on my worst enemy. Not only are you sore and swollen but you can’t close your mouth and you can’t really eat anything but soup. The mood is poor and no wonder. I do hope the worst is nearly over.
Mr. Waffle and I left the house for a mild excursion to the Botanic gardens yesterday. They did good pumpkin work, in fairness.
In view of the improving patient, we went on a slightly longer expedition today to Carlingford, always a favourite of mine. Mr. Waffle was against as the forecast wasn’t great but I urged him to toss caution aside; a mistake I have made more than once.
As we arrived into Carlingford we could see that it was sunny across the fjord in Northern Ireland.
Not very sunny but sunnier than on the mountain we were proposing to climb.
Mr. Waffle remembered some Ulster Unionist slogan along the lines of “We will not exchange the sunny skies of Ulster for the mists and rains of the Republic.” As I said to him, it’s hard to argue with the evidence of your own eyes.
It was damp, no two ways about it but the walk was nice all the same.
We had a light picnic lunch beside some nervous sheep, saving ourselves for a more elaborate lunch in lovely Strandfield later (no website apparently, they don’t need any more custom, honestly, it’s always full).
Of course, on the way home the sun came out. It was beautifully sunny. Like it was when we were in Kilmainham a couple of weeks ago.
I mean, you could be in France.
And it was lovely when we went to Massey’s estate in the Dublin mountains.
And, my goodness, when we walked out to the Poolbeg lighthouse in late September, it was like summer.
I don’t know how it is but I always seem to catch the rain in Carlingford. This is a longstanding problem. Never mind, it’s lovely all the same.
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