confession 16 August 2009
I told a lie about Phil having a shit time last night – it’s just that my sis in law Rebecca instructed me to give him a hard time about not bringing her along on the jaunt westwards and I knew she might read the blog, so…I feel terrible now as lots of you sent him good vibes and told me to buy him a pint to cheer him up (I did the latter, by the way, though he wasn’t in great need of a jar at any stage). Anyhow, the evening was a success and beggaring – if there is a faster or more efficient way of losing money than backing greyhounds I don’t know of it. Even having builders in your house for 14 months or so ain’t as effective, really, not pound for pound (no pun intended).
Earlier in the day Ian, Phil and my Mum went to Sligo to see Himself as that’s where he rests presently and they visited Strandhill a few miles out the road from the town where we used to holiday (caravans, usually, though latterly houses when we got to teenage years) and Phil went surfing. It’s quite a dangerous beach although we used to swim there during the summer – you’d feel a tremendous tug of undertow always – and it kinda ruined tame beaches for me thereafter as I never found them as much fun as Strandhill (obviously some death-defying in the water suited me as a kid). I still wouldn’t really thank you for a timid stretch of sea now.
