from xkcd A webcomic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language.
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My father-in-law has a shed. Not a felt roofed, barely able to stand up garden shed but a more robust version that would probably protect you from falling bombs. At least it would protect you, if it wasn’t for the amount of debris that would be hurled through the air if there ever was an explosion nearby. 
It’s a fascinating place, full of the used and almost used; a staging post for coal, briquettes and logs while they wait to fulfil their destiny; and place where you’ll find stuff that’s bound to come in useful once again if you’re willing wait long enough. No kingdom will fall for lack of a nail if my father-in-law has any say in the matter.* The filing system might look haphazard but I’ve no doubt he knows where everything is stored. Every apparently discarded object has a story to tell. Some of them I know (I’m pretty sure I drank the bottle of Lidl’s finest Perlenbacher) but others I can only guess. Jam jars, chimney brushes, an empty Haribo box, plant pots, paint tins and of course the must-have wheelbarrow. All this guarded by a menacing looking mechanical monster. I’m only scratching the surface. There’s plenty more to discover but I think I would have been taking my life in my hands to venture further into this enchanted grotto.
Lough Arrow straddles the Sligo Roscommon border, but most of it is in Sligo. I was there for a weekend a couple of weeks ago when the mist seemed to be always gaining the upper hand over a struggling sun. It didn’t really rain, but if you were out walking for a few hours you definitely felt damp. The area is beautiful. If you’re travelling on the N4 from Carrick-on-Shannon, as we were since we travelled from Dublin, you pass Lough Key before you reach Lough Arrow. You know you’re getting close to Sligo when you pass the most magnificent sculpture of the Gaelic Chieftain, which commemorates the Battle of Curlew Pass. On 15th August 1599 an Irish force led by “Red” Hugh O’Donnell ambushed and inflicted heavy casualties on an English force under the command of Sir Conyers Clifford. The sculpture by Maurice Harron, unveiled in 1999, is best seen from the road. The Gaelic Chieftain looks proud and majestic, as he looks over the land below. The only battle we encountered was to decide how sedentary or active our weekend was going to be. We compromised and had some lovely meals in Cromleach Lodge and some excellent walks around the lake and the surrounding drumlins. We mainly stuck to by-roads and boreens, and apart from a few cars, we only had to share them with farm animals and a very friendly dog that we called “Vinny”. This is an area of stone walls, farm gates, and tractors; of trout, fishing boats and hatching fly; and of a rich heritage that links us with legends and ancient races, back to the time of Nuada of the Tuatha Dé Danann, of Balor of the Formorians and of Sreng of the Fir Bolg. The battle of Moytura, between these ancient races, was fought near the eastern shores of Lough Arrow. 
As always with Ireland the light kept changing and stunningly bright moments gave way to dark looming clouds. About a third of the way around one of our walks we met “Vinny”. I think he adopted us as for the next two hours wherever we went “Vinny” was sure to follow. He had no fear of water, was great at retrieving sticks but could have been a little less enthusiastic with passing cars. He wasn’t our dog. We had no attachment to him. But when a car came we found ourselves calling for him and then holding him by the collar until the “danger” passed. When he disappeared off chasing some scent in a nearby field we wondered if he was all right. But “Vinny” was well able to take care of himself and only wanted us as a diversion. |
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