Surprise Surprise

Huggy Man at the Farmgate,Midleton

Life is full of surprises; Ireland is full of surprises. The village of Castlemartyr is where Sir Walter Raleigh once shopped, now it has many boarded up village buildings, once mercantile, no doubt, butchers, drapers, candlestick makers. I thought nearby Midleton was one long street with not a lot going on but I discovered the Farmgate on Saturday night. I wish we had one of those in D.4 plus ten and it has been there since 1983. Even a farmer's market around here would be good. You enter the restaurant through their farm shop, purveyors of all that is fresh and good from the hinterland and further afield. 
 

At our hotel they recommended more than once we visit Sage as well. Apparently it's in the top 100 in the country and has the nine mile rule. Only produce from within a nine mile radius is used. So, there're two tips for your next trip to east Cork, which I completely missed last time I was there. 

We went to Farmgate with Annie Oakley, my gun-totin' friend from Virginia, who has fallen for Kinsale as her next place of residence. The steaks were to die for and happily we three girls were not only on budget but on our fainthearted diets. No starters or desserts, but digestifs in Pat Shortt's pub were allowed. Saturday night and the youf of Castlemartyr are out for the music and craic, we repaired to the garden seats overlooking a babbling brook, enchanting but for the sub-zero temperatures. What we do for a cigarette. As we were about to leave I realised my bag was a lot lighter, and my inner bag of cards, money, make up was missing. Our taxi was waiting, yes, for the long drive up the avenue. Nobody had handed it in, I was looking at a real catastrophe with it going missing, it was bought pre-celtic tiger, a splurge I'd made in Paris, so a little sentimental too. Abandoning decorum, I interrupted a group of ladies and asked if anyone had seen it. Blank faces, friends waiting at door, taxi meter running. Next I spot a buxom young lass holding it aloft, walking around asking if anyone owned it.

I hugged her ample charms, or thereabouts. There is goodwill yet.

Mariella and I enjoyed the epitome of lazy Sundays, two tired mothers, just read, took the country air and were rewarded with a massage. The spa at the hotel is world class, the staff were friendly and mainly local, full of charm. It was a thoroughly successful little respite, so much so I forgot to check into landlady house and hoped the Cost Centres would forgive my lapse. Better that I hadn't or otherwise all would not have been so blissful.

Lodger No.1 apparently invoked the Overnight Guest pass. I'd sort of thought the idea would be overnight in one's room, no impact on the sons, the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom, that kind of thing, discreet and subtle. After all, it's a room rental not a house share. It's our home. As I write, all I know is that Cost Centre No. 2 couldn't use the bathroom it was so in demand, and the overnight guest was here all weekend.

I wasn't prepared for my reaction, but it feels a bit creepy, not as bad as being burgled, but a stranger has been in my house all weekend, not at my invitation, it's hard. This is all new to me, and who can you ask for advice?

As this is Diary of a Dublin Landlady, I don't know what's going to happen next. We shall have to wait and see. I know someone is bound to say 'lighten up'!

Gem of a Night

So Absentee Boyfriend got away with being absent for my birthday. And I am glad I was here with friends, one of whom arrived in the morning and sang to me with cake and candle. This dear friend and I have sons the same age, just about twenty-one, both studying economics. We have known each other for quite a few decades; ending up renting out our rooms is far from the place we imagined we’d be now.

While my junior economist is wont to pointing out the error of my career achievements, her fellow gave her Freakonomics for Christmas, advising her that she needed to get into a commodity that she could sell multiples of. We are scratching our heads as to what we could dream up to salvage our middle-youth. Cost Centre #1 has disappeared to college and CC#2 is in charge of their joint present giving, not a DIY economics book insight, but a great one called Photos that Changed the World and, weirdly, a hip flask with the words ‘Who needs boyfriends when you can have vodka?’ OK. We’ll just park that.

Birthday mirth is mildly interrupted by laundry and I have to line up a sock identity parade, the whole thing is getting out of hand, what with the addition of ABF’s now and then. At least, Tristan’s are distinctive, but the rest is a mountain of blue and grey. I throw my hat at it in a bid to get some work done and enjoy the rest of March 13 and wonder will there be anything unusual about 13.03pm on 13.03.13. The answer is NO. Not just is it no, but I have another email thanking me for my application but I'm not being interviewed. On to the next lowly  paid, temporary, maternity cover role in the nearby university...

From the Gatsby Collection with Love by Melissa

That evening I am sitting in a great little BYO Lebanese restaurant with dear friends, including she who shall not be named, Annie Oakley, Clarice-the brilliant and talented jewellery designer, my friend who’s going to Japan, my friend with whom I went on my first holiday to Spain and still dines out on the story, and our own Tristan.

With our bottles of wine stashed under the table we are a giddy mix – the kind of night out you need these days and a birthday is a great excuse to do it, it’s like a personal Christmas, and truly gorgeous presents were unwrapped.

Annie mentions she’s got to hire a car to get to south Wicklow for a horse ride next day, I can’t see that working out and insist on driving, because of course I can ride too, I bravely admit. She couldn't get through to the cowgirls so late in the evening, so we forgot about it. As the night ended, we managed to avoid all talk of property tax, water charges, horsemeat and even the Pope, who’d only been elected that afternoon. With 364 more days before the next one, sure, why not chat for a few more hours at home?