Doing the best that I can, at writing, running and living
I’m looking at the five tiny bumps in an almost neat line still just about visible across my forehead. They, and the fifteen other small bumps on my person, are the remnants of midge bites from our trip, almost all of them picked up during the marathon. The rest of the group had to deal… Continue reading Dingle Peninsula – Part Two
[I wrote this on Tuesday but the wifi was pants] On a shelf, in the house we’re staying at in Ireland, is a book called ‘I Never Knew That About The Irish’ by Christopher Winn. Millan, my nephew who flew over with his mum for a long weekend, dug it out from beneath the assorted Lee Childs… Continue reading Dingle Peninsula – Part One
As we jogged along the road in Cloghane, the American came out of his house with the re-cycling. He cheered us as we hailed him and continued on. It was a small village. Padraig (pronounced ‘Pohrag’) had introduced himself the night before, by the fire in O’Conner’s. His was the only table free in the… Continue reading The Night Before
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