I have been working pretty solidly since getting home, the weekend no exception. I got back tonight and, having fussed MasterB, fed him, cleared the poo from the litter tray, I made my own evening meal. I lingered over it, knowing that when I put my fork down I needed to read some notes for work tomorrow morning when the alarm will be set for six thirty. So a few minutes ago, when i looked at some pictures from my recent holiday they were a welcome reminder of rest and relaxation.
A man came to the house with a book that belonged to his family. Generations past they kept a shop, and it seems my family were among the customers. Cousin and I scanned pages from the 1840s, worried perhaps we were going to find unpaid bills that would by now have accrued considerable interest. There were lots of sundries, quantities of leather, salt, tobacco and bread, but fortunately no outstanding debts. Phew.
Visiting Uncle Bill, now resident with his son, another of my cousins, we again admired the temperament of the two dogs, brother and sister, found with their mother abandoned by the side of the road in a ditch. They seem to have suffered no lasting trauma.
Last Sunday afternoon we returned to the Helicon to listen to Alan Johnson, a fluent, engaging speaker. As with the Van Morrison concert, no photography was allowed once the event was underway, so here are two empty chairs waiting for Alan, and his interlocutor Stephen Walker to take to the stage. The books are a nice prop.
I think I may have photographed this house sign before. It’s not on my usual walk with the dogs, but I wanted to take them by the feld where the horses are. Poppy had been a bit unnerved by a horse and rider, so I thought seeing horses from the safety of the other side of a hedge might be a good idea.
Finally, at the airport I saw this book. I think I might have to get it so I can continue to explore Belfast and environs.