Harvest Festival Preparations

Glad you’re on the mend, and that you have escaped the touchy-feely Yoga guy unscathed. I thought that meditation was something you did alone. Your experience reminds me of a few scary incidents spent in dormitories in the company of aging RC priests or virile Christian Brothers many, many years ago. Don’t worry. Most of them are dead (down there) or in prison now.

Sorry that I have not been able to relieve you lately (with light-hearted banter; ooh-er). Mad busy tracing long-lost worldwide O’Connells for the big birthday bash. Monday was particularly mad. I spent the first half of my day reading through my proof-read novel just returned overnight from my proof-reader in the US. More editing needed. Then the second half of the day was spent interviewing Con’s father, Anthony, again. We had to decide which members of the O’Connell extended family are worthy of inclusion in the published Family Tree, and which characters are scumbags to be deleted (aka the divorcee brigade).

The third half of my day was taken up by another soup run up to Maurice the Cripple’s place, plus a welcome rest by the Roaring Cock fire on the way home. I’m only joking – I didn’t spend the whole of the third half of the day in the pub. Just an hour or two.

Poor Maurice. He is the one who calls himself by the non-PC term of ‘cripple’. If you recall, he fell off his false leg and had a nasty accident. It looks more serious than I had imagined. He might not even make the Harvest Drinking Festival this weekend. You see, he let me in his house on this visit, instead of growling “feck off” from his wheelchair or bed – which is perfectly understandable. Maurice talked me through the accident. On a wet floor, his prosthetic leg slipped from beneath him, and as it was tightly strapped to the stump below his amputated left knee, the physical muscle damage was horrendous. As a doctor, you should understand all about the severely sprained and twisted tendons. Achilles was mentioned – but thankfully no broken bones.

I did not appreciate the worst part of the incident until Maurice disclosed the full tale and made tears trickle down my cheeks. Apparently, the heavy boot of the false leg ended up being forced violently between his legs during the fall. A definite red card offence. Violent conduct. The leg is banned for a fortnight.

I just had time to witness the roadies starting to erect the mammoth grandstand and main stage for the weekend festival at the Cock. Scaffold poles everywhere. I heard one watching old-timer observe: “How are you going to get the sheep up that high?”. The scaffolder told him not to be daft. He advised that they are going to make a very long ramp across the Cock car park for the livestock.


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