I had settled down last evening, hook in hand and feet up, prepared to let Jamie Oliver tell me how he likes his eggs, when Husband charged through the door, mobile phone held aloft, yelling:
‘Switch over, change channels, quickly…we are winning!’
Winning what? I have to admit that I didn’t even know which sport we might be winning, who ‘we’ was exactly or who we were beating.
‘Soccer’, Husband panted as he flicked frantically to find the match, ‘Ireland’, he gasped as he perched precariously on the edge of the couch, ‘Germany’.
And that was the most coherent sentence out of him for the next hour.
We won. If you want to see Ireland hold its breath, live on TV, watch here.
The whole country is on a high. It’s as if everyone went to bed last night thinking, ‘God, maybe we’re alright after all’, ‘maybe we have something to be proud of’. It feels quite a lot like the morning after Riverdance exploded into our lives. Let’s hope Shane Long can keep a hold on himself.
Now, if I can just skip back to life before The Match and fill you in on what was a very happy, busy Thursday.
My first task was to enroll Small Girl in our local National School for next year. Just the notion of her heading off to Big School set a whole train of deep thoughts in motion. I set about de-railing that train by digging the new flower bed.
Then I get going and make a bit of progress and I get hot and pull off my fleece and then my hands start to hurt and I have to search for my gloves and dig some more and plan where I’ll plant and then I think I could just make the whole bed a foot wider so I go back to the start and dig again…until somebody shouts,
Naturally, a new bed needs new plants. Small Girl and I went to the garden centre and found these poor orphans crammed into a back shelf and all labelled half-price because it’s the end of the perennial season. Happy days.
Robert Herrick’s poem is here.
Or, remind yourself of this…
Have a great weekend.