Slates and gates

Admittedly the weather's been shite a good bit of the time, but it's still taking much longer than expected to get this shed completed. I like our builder - he's friendly and helpful and full of promises. Anyway, once the blocks arrived they went up quickly enough. Not necessarily in a straight line, but they were up. The lintels weren't altogether on the same plane either, but who needs a door and window to look level? Being picky I think.

It was at this stage of the build, with both gables up and vulverable, that the Big Wind came. In the photo above you might be able to see a long piece of timber placed vertically against the gable with another pressed against it at an angle. This kept the gable safe until the roof went on.

And finally the slates - I was really pleased with the slates. This is what we'll have on the house too. They come from a quarry over near Portroe in Tipperary on the other side of the mountain we can see from the site.

When I say the slates come from the quarry near Portroe, they actually come from Spain. The Portroe quarry is who we pay and who delivers them. This is how things work, slate-wise.

All that's left now is the ridge tiles. Maybe tomorrow, the builder says. There have been good reasons all along why it couldn't be done today.

Bearing this in mind, Joe asked a friend to help him put in the doors and windows, so that job is done already.

It's beginning to look like a building.

And we have gates! This was another job the builder was going to do, but guess who put in the posts and hung the gates in the end?

What a clever dog!

Feakle at the festival

The road led to Feakle this last week for the annual Traditional Music Festival.

There was the usual mayhem outside the pubs. Gentle mayhem though. Mostly.















Outside Pepper's is always a favourite when the sun shines.
 

People sit beneath the road sign at the table across the road and strum guitars or try to look like famous musicians. (Actually some of these might be famous musicians - the two Japanese were fantastic players).

Here's Joe playing tunes in Shortt's Bar on ... Thursday? Friday? Not sure.





This photo pretty much sums up the week really. Some days we played tunes in the afternoon too. We stayed in the van down by the mortuary which is what we've done for the last couple of years, going home at two or three via the chip van. One night they'd all but finished. It's amazing what you'll eat at that time in the morning. Joe had some class of chicken burger and I ate the chips the woman beside me said she couldn't finish because she felt sick.

Each year there are more camper vans/motorhomes. The last two years there has also been a caravan almost entirely held together with duct tape. There are similarities beween boating people and camper van people, one of which is that some of them run their engines for an hour to charge up their batteries. I sit there grumbling when this happens, trying not to breath as the fumes come straight in. I'm generally a wimp when it comes to confronting people with their inconsiderate habits, but I have a good line in 'are you having problems with your batteries?' Oh so grumpy and intolerant.

I was an attractant for drunken banjo players at this festival (husband not included). Both sat far too close. One kept going on about being a Scottish chieftain or some such. He was certainly Scottish.

Some people were having none of this diddly eye nonsense taking up their viewing space inside the pub.









It's a fabulous location for festival, and there's an opportunity to walk off the Guinness along the kilometer between Pepper's and the rest of the village. Great views as you go...

...and the chance for a spot of contemplation.











Recovery has taken longer than usual. On Monday I thought I might get to bed at the usual after-session time of around two. We were down in Shortt's with our friend Pete over from England. Eileen O'Brien was playing with Seamus Bugler that night - she's Paddy O'Brien the Tipp box player's daughter for those with an interest in musician dynasties. A great fiddle player. And then there was talk at the bar. Whiskies were had. It ended up the latest night of the week. Then we had a house session on Tuesday night with festival refugees. Wednesday was boating refugees. Lashing rain, high winds, friends in Scarriff on boat with three children. Another late and great night. Thursday I was playing with Seamus in Shortt's. Dear god and goddess let me have an early night tonight.