Three Queens in Seanhenge

Again three Queens and their households are residing in Seanhenge.

Nectarious times they are living,

and (almost) no doubt:

Sweet will be their reward.

Imagine: 100 Days of the Book

Today a month ago happened what does not happen often: I was ahead the times.

Therefore, I thought tonight I'd just have to set the very link, but alas:

By doing so I had to realise: I am almost one month behind the time to answer some comments.
Sorry.
Not that this would not happen now and then. It does.
And as I am at it: Mostly it's not due to the attribute I am (often) coquetting with (my laziness), but my (felt) inability to quickly/spontaneously express my thoughts. In this very case it's due to something else.
Ah, it's such a pity: to read an interesting comment/thought, and (feeling to) not having the words, (to) not having the time to answer properly and then - to forget about it.
Well, my problem. Why did I start blogging in English, instead of sticking to the language I sucked from my mother's breast?!

End of the beforegoing.

[...] and after having cancelled lots of further rubbish [...].
For those who did not follow above given link: Certain people do (the rest of their contempories wish to) think today - April 23rd - is 'The Day of the Book'.

These people are idiots; and not just in the classical sense.

What about an Orwellian Hate Week?
Coming to think of it. One week of hate would mean: there'd be 51 weeks of no hate at all. What a relief, hm?!
Analogue, there'd be 364 Days of no Book.
[Yes, yes! And 365 days in leap years.]
Take your choice.


Postscriptum for those who'd find difficult to understand: It's not as difficult as you think; it's much more complex.

Finally, my commendation for the next Day of the Book:

Some works of John McGahern.

They're easily read within 24 hours.
And re the other few authors worth being read: In case you're able to read immediately after your birth, and assuming you're going to live 100 years, there'll be 100 Days of the Book. Now that's a big heap of time, hm?
Enjoy.
And good luck with the other 36,400 (bookless) days.

No kingdom for more sleep

Not much sleep I'd get these days. However, the other morning, having a mug of tea and a cigarette on balcony, when ...

looking east, and ...

looking south ...

again I felt: I am privileged.

The peace of the night.

Pars pro toto

Spring, spring!
Spring in Seanhenge!

Night and Dreams

Having helped her to sit up on the edge of the bed, he says while kneeling in front of her and putting on her slippers:
- You look like I was again causing you nightmares.
No response. No smile. No eye sparkling.
- Did I again offer you tea all night until you were fed up with me?
- ...
- Hm, do you think you are ready to fly into my arms?
- Yes.
- Alright then. ... Ready?
- Yes.
- You know that you will never ever fall when the strongest of all sons-in-law's with you?
- Yes.
- Good. So let's do it, Mylady. One ... two ... three! Done.
A little scream. Her head leaning against his left shoulder; he feels her shivering.
- Did it hurt?
- No.
- You say when you are ready for the marathon?
- I am ready.
- Good. So give me your hands, Mylady.
Slowly, step by step, they cover the three metres to the bedroom door, its threshold.
- And now we are climbing Mt. Everest. ... Good.

Minutes later. The old woman sitting on the toilet, he sitting on the rim of the bath tub.
- Don't you feel well?
- No.
- Any pain?
- No.
- So, w...
- I'll tell you when I've the teeth in my mouth.
- So be it.
He smiles. Their eyes meet. She does not smile.

Half an hour later, having another marathon behind her, with climbing Nanga Parbat and Popocatepetl, surviving a breakfast containing of three tiny bits of bread - one with egg and fleurs de sel, one with walnut cheese, one with chaumes -, a cup of tea and three pills, she says:
- It was so horrible! Wearing white runners, on arriving with my bicycle at the grocer's suddenly there was a sandheap. I fell. While getting up, fortunately Mickey appeared. Mickey, I said, could you please pick up my bike? He did, and I asked him: Mickey, would you now, please, be so kind and slap me? - But, why should I slap you, Eireen? he asked. Oh Mickey, I said, Diarmuid's told me by no means to get up without him. I could call him at any time of the day and the night, and now I am here. He will ... In the next moment I awoke ... ah ... and so relieved I felt to be in my bed. Still, I was shivering with horror.
- White runners? Did you ever wear white runners?
- No.
- Did you really ask Mickey to slap you?
- Yes.
And he laughed and laughed and ... both they laughed.

Pitch'n'Putt with Andrew'n'Calum

Postscriptum:
Oh sorry. Just notice: Correct title, wrong video. Or ...?