Sunday Morning

Dear Diary,

Good Sunday morning,

The pics. are by a favourite of mine, the Belfast painter, Paul Henry. When I win the lottery I will collect all his paintings!

There is also one of the Welsh coast (with a peregrine). I am not sure of the artist, I will get back to you on that.

It will be a short blog today. I do solemnly promise not to get carried away. I have other writing to attend to and many, many other things I should be doing instead of sitting in front of this computer. The sun is shining after all. I had a headache all day yesterday so the day was wasted…..

The martins are busy outside the study window. I may be imagining it but there seem to be a few more of them. The collared doves too are wandering around on the riverbank collecting food, are there wee dovelets in the nest, I wonder?

I laid in bed this morning and my thoughts turned to dreams and then to wishes. I stopped myself at the first three that came into my head.

I wished the grass would shrink or just grow to a sensible length and stop growing.

I wished that Madeleine could be found alive.

I wished that hours would last at least twice as long.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could each have our very own fairy godmother who would grant us three wishes every morning when we awoke?

Why can’t life be more like the fairy tale that always has a happy ending?

Before I go, instead of a poem, I just wanted to share a little piece I read in the Guardian last week.


From the Guardian 12.5.07

On Wales

Why I love it by Niall Griffiths, author

Because it’s like nowhere else on earth. Because the mountains aren’t remote humps on the horizon; they’re what people live on and among. Because those airborne crucifixes that soar and mewl in the mist are predatory birds. Because water is the country’s blood; the rivers and sea lap at your ankles and elbows wherever you are. Because of the food; the laver bread and cockles and cheeses and lamb and samphire and herbs and fish which have been prepared in the same way for centuries. Because the language’s refusal to die offends those who should be offended. Because of the calmness to be found on peaks and pinnacles. Because of the age of the rocks, pocked and stippled by the movements of the very first multi-cellular creatures. Because you can drive from Amlwwch to Newport in a day and see mountain and marsh and plain and moor and valley and city and mine and dam and lake and river and sea-cliff and bog on that one short journey. Because the country once drove Blair to blaspheme. Because it can be home.


I wish I had written that but that’s what good writing should be shouldn’t it, an inspiration?

Bye for now,
Caitx