K8 the GR8

Isn’t this sunshine just the absolute bee’s knees?

Today is my Saturday (being a quiet day on the taxi market) so I get to catch up on ‘puter stuff like designing a t-shirt for the Mini Marathon…

…and writing bloggy things. 

Saturday was excellent.  I and the Accidental Terrorist dumped our chisellers with the family and went to a wedding of epic proportions in Co. Westmeath.  We were a cozy group of about 50, most of whom we knew, but hadn’t seen in about ten years.  I danced the YMCA and played for the crowd on a grand piano which are things I only do when I am extremely happy. 

The reception was held at Middleton House in Castletown Geoghan, which is an old recently renovated house.  It’s only used for group bookings, so we had the entire place to ourselves.  The staff are to be praised from a height… the food was perfect, and they were polite the entire time, even through the many passes they received from various drunken ladies.  It’s an excellent venue, should you need one for whatever purpose. 

The chap in the B&B we stayed in told us that he used to be a Guard who was stationed in that house 25 years ago.  His job was to prevent the house from any damage caused by locals who were itching to burn it down, being that it was built and owned by a Protestant family.  The history of the place was fascinating stuff.

This was our dancing-area, the band were in the gap to the right of the staircase, and there are two bars with comfy couches and fireplaces either side of the picture.

I got to pooch around a few rooms too - each plusher than the last - and met a spectre in one of the basement hallways.  I took a picture of him for you:

 We had a very one-sided conversation briefly before whatever it was buggered off.  I think he wanted me to follow him but I know the rules of horror films, so I didn’t. 

I explained more on Brian’s blog’s comments, with details on why I’m not crazy and didn’t imagine the whole thing.

Bank Holiday Monday should have seen me hackney-cabbing in Bray, but instead I got called to dig Baldeagle out of a hole.  Baldeagle is one of TAT’s most spurious of friends, who works for our Irish version of Fed-Ex.  He had double-booked himself, so we swapped transport and I got to drive a big van from the Quays in Dublin City, all the way up to Belfast and back, while he got to pull donuts and practise his hand-brake turns in a field with my own jam-jar.

It was pretty nice cruising up and down motorways all day like that in the sunshine, apart from the fact that I’ve got a trucker’s tan now.  One white arm just looks odd.

How was your weekend?