Quoth The Baskie
Day of odd ordinary richness.
Met up with Iraide for coffee. She's an old friend from the Basque country, who now lives in London, and is back in Dublin for just a few days.
We hadn't seen each other for years. I've got to say she is looking a lot better than I remembered. Positively sinuous.
And at last, at last, at last, after a long quest, at last I tells 'ee... She's finally found a hairstyle that works.
Maybe it works a little too well. In fact I would have been a tad nervous before such beauty, only, let's face it, I've improved a bit with age myself.
This meeting had been long overdue.
I was looking forward to relaxing for once with a girl who doesn't take mortal offence if you refuse to pass her the salt.
She has her foibles of course, but a lunatic obsession with being passed condiments is thankfully not one of them.
But I digress.
Ira and me sat in the Stephen's Green Cafe at a window looking down on the bustling afternoon city.
Our conversation ranged freely.
Soon I was raving contentedly about one of my latest obsessions.
"You've got to meet this artist," sez I. "Her name's Medbh Gillard. She's a genius. No, really. I'm telling you Baskie I've discovered a genius."
Ira released a gentle sigh.
"You say the girl's a genius," sez she. "But you're only excited because you discovered her. It's all about you discovering her. That's so typical of you, James. You haven't changed a bit."
Perceptive people the Basques.
Not diplomatic.
But perceptive.
I spread my arms wide in fond supplication.
"Ira," sez I, "How could you want to change perfection?"
Her face, in the best sense of an old fashioned phrase, was a study.
After a few hours of similarly sublime conversation, I took my leave and headed back to the sleepy town of Kilcullen.
As I drove, I felt a sudden sense of nostalgia for Hoddlebun. It didn't last long.
Back home, I spent a few hours working on an idea for a new magazine. (I have a feeling the Baldy Charlbot Column will be a hit but aside from that, it's in the lap of the gods.)
It was long after dark when Paddy Pup prodded me with his snout, to tell me it was time for his walk.
As we made our way by starlight through the ancient fields, fresh with the musk of new growth, I was struck with a profound feeling of contentment.
I am indeed rich.
My riches are people.
Met up with Iraide for coffee. She's an old friend from the Basque country, who now lives in London, and is back in Dublin for just a few days.
We hadn't seen each other for years. I've got to say she is looking a lot better than I remembered. Positively sinuous.
And at last, at last, at last, after a long quest, at last I tells 'ee... She's finally found a hairstyle that works.
Maybe it works a little too well. In fact I would have been a tad nervous before such beauty, only, let's face it, I've improved a bit with age myself.
This meeting had been long overdue.
I was looking forward to relaxing for once with a girl who doesn't take mortal offence if you refuse to pass her the salt.
She has her foibles of course, but a lunatic obsession with being passed condiments is thankfully not one of them.
But I digress.
Ira and me sat in the Stephen's Green Cafe at a window looking down on the bustling afternoon city.
Our conversation ranged freely.
Soon I was raving contentedly about one of my latest obsessions.
"You've got to meet this artist," sez I. "Her name's Medbh Gillard. She's a genius. No, really. I'm telling you Baskie I've discovered a genius."
Ira released a gentle sigh.
"You say the girl's a genius," sez she. "But you're only excited because you discovered her. It's all about you discovering her. That's so typical of you, James. You haven't changed a bit."
Perceptive people the Basques.
Not diplomatic.
But perceptive.
I spread my arms wide in fond supplication.
"Ira," sez I, "How could you want to change perfection?"
Her face, in the best sense of an old fashioned phrase, was a study.
After a few hours of similarly sublime conversation, I took my leave and headed back to the sleepy town of Kilcullen.
As I drove, I felt a sudden sense of nostalgia for Hoddlebun. It didn't last long.
Back home, I spent a few hours working on an idea for a new magazine. (I have a feeling the Baldy Charlbot Column will be a hit but aside from that, it's in the lap of the gods.)
It was long after dark when Paddy Pup prodded me with his snout, to tell me it was time for his walk.
As we made our way by starlight through the ancient fields, fresh with the musk of new growth, I was struck with a profound feeling of contentment.
I am indeed rich.
My riches are people.
posted by heelers | 1:55 AM
