My feet are here on BroadwayThis blessed harvest morn,But oh! the ache that’s in my heartFor the spot where I was born.My weary hands are blisteredThrough work in cold and heat!And oh! to swing a scythe once moreThrough a field of Irish wheat.Had I the chance to wander back,Or own a king’s abode.I’d sooner see … More The Ghosts of The Old Bog Road
Okay. That makes no sense. It’s clickbait of the highest order, though of course, my few select readers come of their own volition, so there’s a reasonable chance you are going to read it anyway. But as most of you are either one or the other, or both, it will probably pique your interest. So … More Cycling. Like running, only easier
Oh, yes, they call him the Streak(Boogity, boogity)Fastest thing on two feet(Boogity, boogity) Ray Stevens‘The Streak’ Actually, no. Nobody calls me The Streak. I admit these are strange times, and if you hear a runner has been arrested in Ireland for nude jogging, it would be worth a few quid to bet that it was … More And they call him The Streak
Well, that’s been one strange week. It started at the end, so to speak, with the last day of 2017. We had planned to have some friends over for the night’s festivities, and watch Jools Holland’s Hootenanny. By the time I had crawled home from the morning exertions along the canal bank, it was clear … More The week ‘flu by…
IN WHICH WE FINALLY ENJOY A BREAK IN THE WEATHER, AND FEEL THE GOOD KARMA OF HELPING OUT WITH A LOCAL FUNDRAISER The cool weather has finally been banished. It has nothing to do with the newly-elected government, I might add. It’s what we call a coincidence. Anyway, enough of that politics stuff. We’ve been … More One good turn
unironedman 