Four Days Off

It has taken six attempts to start this entry.  Something is seriously awry with my laptop.  The problem now that I am in at last, is that in all the frustration of trying to get that stupid little icon to stop spinning and allow me to type,  I have forgotten all the erudite and witty remarks I had stored up.

Four days off seems far to good an opportunity to waste on housekeeping and sleep, but that is pretty much how my Easter is going.  The worst of that is that the  sleep is taking precedence, and the housekeeping barely getting a nod.  Up at the crack of dawn, coffee and a few token efforts at tidying, folding and sweeping, breakfast/brunch and then a nap.  That was Friday and Saturday.  Today I spent most of the morning making what I modestly believe to be astoundingly good seafood pies.  Four small pastry pies, and a large potato topped one, which will feed me for the next few days.  I froze two small ones, gave one to Carl, and saw him off in my car (he is heading up to Perth to look at a flat and attend a job interview) ate one with a glass of Asti Spumante at noon, and took yet another nap.

I was aroused from my postprandial doze by Brenton  and Andrew who were keen on going for a ride.  So to Nyabing we  went where at the tavern we drank soft drinks and played pool.   I have not played for years and despite a couple of very good shots, mostly performed very poorly indeed, winning one of the games only by luck, when Andrew went in off the black.  Brenton beat me soundly in my second game.  One win each.

The ride blew the cobwebs away, and over coffee back at my place we agreed to do it again tomorrow afternoon.  I sent a text to Rrahim, the chap who bought the White Lady, inviting him along, but no reply.  I expect he has other plans for Easter.  Then I got stuck into the housework once more.  It is now one AM and I guess I have earned a nap this time.

About Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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