Just woke from an afternoon nap (plenty of wine for lunch) - Mom's still snoozing in front of Without a Trace.
It normally takes Mom a few days before she starts trying to sell me to passers-by at random. She's into the full swing of it now: the scale of fees is worked out and she's designing a 'VENDE' sign.
Fab looking sea today.In other news, Mom has found the perfect consulate substitute. Cigarettes are so cheap here it would tempt anyone to take up smoking just to save money!
We spent much of the afternoon chatting over wine in a local restaurant. When they came to close up the owner said we could stay as long as we liked, which we did. Then home for a nap, followed by the arrival of Mrs Codebreaker bearing avocados. I am so spoiled...
NASA runs a website of daily astronomy pictures, and I caught up on recent images today. Yesterday's was pretty phenomenal, but if you go back further there's also a shot of a car that's been smushed by a meteor, with some handy advice on what to do if you're lucky enough to come across things that have fallen out of the sky..jpg)
We've spent days chatting over various drinks and meals. There's a certain 1970s feel to the afternoons - given consulate ciggies and a campari & soda, my Mom is one happy lady!
Mom is becoming Super Tech Girl, making webcam 'postcards' to email home to Dublin. I bought some of her favourite music from iTunes: she's currently swinging her teeny iPod shuffle to 'I wish I was a punk rocker with flowers in my hair'.
Well, all is bright anyway. We went in to Funchal for the turning on of the Christmas lights, which we finally got around to after beer, shopping, movie, meal, wine. There was a fair crowd gathered in front of Sé Cathedral, with some music, miscellaneous dignitaries, and a lovely atmosphere.
I'm fascinated by regional word usage & slang (like the way "where is it?" becomes "where's it to?") in Devon. Mom brought me over a Dictionary of Cork Slang, which is good fun.The pawny was down all afternoon, and the place was fierce shlowny. The old wan is a dooshie little thing, but had a great lip on her for drink, so we had a gwall of wine, and then had wagons more. It's fair to say she wasn't far off rotto. We razzed each other loads, and then she had a good stroke so we vamped across the road for dinner. We had great taspy on us, and caused ructions in the restaurant - it was great hack. She's getting used to having her steamers indoors here, which is a change from Dublin. Anyway, she was flahed-out pretty early. Today she's had a gander around doing her traditional knawvshawling. She's cut the tripes out of me already regarding a variety of transgressions, involving the fridge, towels, coffee, bed, hangers etc., and she gave me down the banks for not having an extractor fan.
Still, it's me daza to have her here!
Martin's on his way back to London, and Mom is on her way here. She just texted from Lisbon to say she's been upgraded; her new flight will be getting in 90 minutes earlier.
Broadband on the blink most of yesterday, so we missed Martin's last guest blog.
Martin is off playing on the buses again, scenes from The Italian Job in his head as he zooms around corners.
I am currently winning 2-0 (yes I know shock horror... Orlaith is losing again) in my attempts to get out of bed after her. Deep down I know that she is upset, but she is pretending that she's not competitive - she can't fool me). Today I had another two journeys into Funchal courtesy of the suicidal municipal bus drivers of Madeira. If you have yet to experience the death-defying mountain roads of this volcanic Island these journeys are a essential part of any visit to this fair isle. Picture the scene; state of the art 1970s vehicular technology, together with 1950s design, complete with fake plastic leather seats (no expense spared) combined with a near Hindu belief in the virtue of death - a bargain at one Euro forty.
Great day - wrote for much of the morning, caught up with my sister, then went into Funchal with Martin. We pretty much just sat around chatting for hours, which was heavenly.
overwhelming unconscious urge in her. She checked over the plants, removed dead leaves, tidied the kitchen surfaces, arranged the fridge magnets - it was a haven of activity! I could see relief wash over her when she saw the pantry - it truly looks like something Doris Day put together. I love pantries :)When he grew up he conveyed himself along in a large bowl fortified by iron, in which he was embedded. This man was the original "Billy in the Bowl," for though many other personages who got along in various ways were honoured with the same sobriquet, yet this fellow was the king of them all.
He soon ingratiated himself with the simple servant maids from Meath in the respectable houses of Oxmantown. "It's only Billy in the Bowl, ma'am." "Oh, very well," and Billy's bowl was filled with beef, bread, etc. Nature had compensated for his curtailment by giving him fine dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and a well-formed mouth, with dark curling locks, and a body and arms of herculean power.
When I moved to the UK I had to get used to a mostly bonfire-less halloween - instead we had Bonfire Night a few days later. Several villages in Devon have developed their own unique traditions for celebrating. In Ottery St Mary it's the night of the tar barrels - a crowd of thousands line the village and try to stay out of the way as people run through with flaming tar barrels on their backs. In the village of Shebbear they 'turn the Devil's stone' (which weighs about one tonne) to ensure good fortune for the coming year.
Apparently when you blush the lining of your stomach also turns red..jpg)
come on just makes everybody else nervous.
There's thunder right over the building, windows are rattling, the world is all white and misty with the palm trees doing their Dance of the Arcs.
