Went for a walk along the tiny stream that backs the field in front of the Kavanagh's farm. We were armed with knee-high wellies and waterproof pants, but could not have known of the battle that lay ahead of us. The water was only about a foot deep, and so far there were hardly any brambles or nettles when we stumbled upon a veritable jungle of holly, rose thorns and just about any other pain-inflicting plant you can think of. The only option was to get out and walk along the bank until there was an easy spot to get back in. Even the scythe wouldn't cut through that stuff. Little did we know that we had stepped out of the frying pan and in to the fire, this being the largest amount of shit I have ever seen. Literally.
We jumped from one patch of grass to the other, because the roots were the only thing keeping us out of the meter of shit that lay below us. it was like in those kids puzzle books, where you have to find the easiest way across the rocks to save the princess or some such fantasy. We decided to split up. A bad idea. Oliver got stuck half way up his leg, and as I was running over to help, so did I. I managed to pull myself out and run over to help him up. We were still trying to find a way to get back in the river. I made a jump for a lump of grass, thinking that it would hold. Alas, I fell in to the shit. It was like stepping in to concrete up to above your knee that had just set, and smelled to high heavens. As I tried to pull myself out, it made awful squishing noises and lumps of god knows what started to float to the surface. A friendly hand pulled me out, and we stumbled across the rest of the field. Shitty, but an adventure nonetheless.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
The farmer's life
Today I had the opportunity to do some farming. The job was to collect grass cuttings (sileage) and drag them along in a tractor, dump them in a pile and watch anotehr tractor push them into a bigger pile and then cover them with tyres. All so that the cows could eat it in the winter. The tractors have no suspension, so it's murder if you aren't in the driver's seat. Oliver and I chatted about what we want to do when we finished school.
Monday, July 6, 2009
To Wicklow we will go
The gang and I headed in to Dundalk today, which is a rather small town with old churches and brick row houses. We went to their 'massive mall' which consists of a mere 30 shops, and a tiny food court. The department stores here are incredible. We went in to a place called Penney's, and even with the calculation from £ to $, it was still a steal. The mall has a nice website, giving you a bit of info about what its like. http://www.marshesshopping.com/centre.aspx .
We head in to Wicklow tomorrow, where my grandparents live and for those who know me well enough, Oliver. We take the train down, a very different experience from the Canadian trains. I'll write more after I've been, if possible. I don't know if many of the people I'll be staying with have high-speed.
We head in to Wicklow tomorrow, where my grandparents live and for those who know me well enough, Oliver. We take the train down, a very different experience from the Canadian trains. I'll write more after I've been, if possible. I don't know if many of the people I'll be staying with have high-speed.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The days of recovery
I'm feeling a bit better today. That was the worst Jet-Lag I have ever had, complete with headaches, waves of depression, and general nausea, it could be described as somewhat less than pleasant.
I seem to have developed a fascination with the Irish idea of cool. We drove down to Drogheda (a small town with old churches and winding roads) and meandered through the roads taking sideways glances at buskers, and getting splashed by cars. I'm amazed at what 'cool' is percieved to be over here. I saw a lad about 16/17 wearing bright blue cotton sweatpants with matching top and bottom, the pants were 3 inches above his ankle, and he had super high up athletic socks, adorned with gigantic white runners. The collar of the zip-up sweatshirt was popped, and he had on a wife beater underneath, some fake gold bling etc. His hair was shaven on the sides, and slicked on the top. He had a mate with him who was basically identical but wearing black sweats with a neon stripe. It was...interesting to see that these were 'the cool kids.' Maybe they weren't, but they sure strutted like they were.
So far the Irish girl's idea of cool is a tight ponytail with gel in it, complete with tight pants and sweater for the older girls (20-30) and the preteens are in to more of an 'Ardene' look. I saw a few people who looked just like Vicky Pollard from Little Britain. One of them was a short woman, with a dark ponytail propped on top of her head, and her face covered in blingy sunglasses. She wore a tight yellow tank top, over which her belly flowed like an unruly pancake, spilling onto her leapord skinned tights. The other was a younger girl, maybe about 15 who had on silk stockings, which had ripped in places, after trying to hold in the bulge. I felt bad for her.
Having fun.
I seem to have developed a fascination with the Irish idea of cool. We drove down to Drogheda (a small town with old churches and winding roads) and meandered through the roads taking sideways glances at buskers, and getting splashed by cars. I'm amazed at what 'cool' is percieved to be over here. I saw a lad about 16/17 wearing bright blue cotton sweatpants with matching top and bottom, the pants were 3 inches above his ankle, and he had super high up athletic socks, adorned with gigantic white runners. The collar of the zip-up sweatshirt was popped, and he had on a wife beater underneath, some fake gold bling etc. His hair was shaven on the sides, and slicked on the top. He had a mate with him who was basically identical but wearing black sweats with a neon stripe. It was...interesting to see that these were 'the cool kids.' Maybe they weren't, but they sure strutted like they were.
So far the Irish girl's idea of cool is a tight ponytail with gel in it, complete with tight pants and sweater for the older girls (20-30) and the preteens are in to more of an 'Ardene' look. I saw a few people who looked just like Vicky Pollard from Little Britain. One of them was a short woman, with a dark ponytail propped on top of her head, and her face covered in blingy sunglasses. She wore a tight yellow tank top, over which her belly flowed like an unruly pancake, spilling onto her leapord skinned tights. The other was a younger girl, maybe about 15 who had on silk stockings, which had ripped in places, after trying to hold in the bulge. I felt bad for her.
Having fun.
The incredible journey
When I got to the airport, they said I couldn't get on the plane because I was a minor, or 'under 16' which they had neglected to mention when I BOOKED the fecking ticket. I was in tears, and began to ask if they had any more tickets for the plane (I was allowed on if a family member came) there was ONE seat left. My mom bought it. Then, we headed to the check in thing only to find that the plane was three hours delayed.
My mom of course, didn't have her passport or anything, and had left her car in the short-term parking lot. She called a friend to pick up the car and called Finn and my Dad to get the essentials. They dashed to the airport with 10 t-shirts, passport, citizenship, shorts, meds, and a pair of undies. My mom was still in shock from actually buying the ticket, and could hardly believe she was actually going.
We waited around for three hours, unhelpful service ladies not even knowing when we were going to arrive in Glasgow, which was important, because I had a pre-booked connection flight to Dublin to catch. They finally said it was to land at 12:30, 30 minutes after my other plane was scheduled to leave. I asked them if they would do anythign, and the answer was a resounding 'no.' That's customer service for you!
The flight was fine, and we got a last minute ticket to Belfast (Northern Ireland.) Arrived in Belfast airport, and then got picked up by good ol' uncle Steve. Getting here was exhausting, but it's so beautiful. I just glanced out the window, and I can see the other end of the inlet we're in, the sea spreading out as if it goes on forever, the crashing wave, and 1234567898765432345678 shades of green
My mom of course, didn't have her passport or anything, and had left her car in the short-term parking lot. She called a friend to pick up the car and called Finn and my Dad to get the essentials. They dashed to the airport with 10 t-shirts, passport, citizenship, shorts, meds, and a pair of undies. My mom was still in shock from actually buying the ticket, and could hardly believe she was actually going.
We waited around for three hours, unhelpful service ladies not even knowing when we were going to arrive in Glasgow, which was important, because I had a pre-booked connection flight to Dublin to catch. They finally said it was to land at 12:30, 30 minutes after my other plane was scheduled to leave. I asked them if they would do anythign, and the answer was a resounding 'no.' That's customer service for you!
The flight was fine, and we got a last minute ticket to Belfast (Northern Ireland.) Arrived in Belfast airport, and then got picked up by good ol' uncle Steve. Getting here was exhausting, but it's so beautiful. I just glanced out the window, and I can see the other end of the inlet we're in, the sea spreading out as if it goes on forever, the crashing wave, and 1234567898765432345678 shades of green
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