48 days and counting?

But who's counting?
Sheeeet, I hear that back home in Queensland they're on class 5 water restrictions - somewhere around 140-170 L of water usage a day per household - but back here in Strandhill that's the count to date. 48 days. Everyday, surely not all day everyday but everyday without fail.

Last night I was up the back of the Dunes having a quiet pint with Tom and we were joking about the delightful day we'd had, '...you know Tom, it hasn't rained all day', shit you not, a few minutes later it came. I wouldn't mind so much if the waves were on but that's been slim pickings too for the last two months or so at least.

Glad to get out a couple of times to get the Cord wet in these Eirish waters as I had promised her before our emigration. There's been some lovely little sliders down the front on the beachies - 1-2 foot and the classic glass gas to boot. Nothing much to awaken the slabs as yet to warrant a mention.

Caught in the downpouring last night as I hunted down the locus of a jam session which never materialised - on the way down village I took note of an a-board out front of the Venue chalked up with, 'tonight - seamie o'dowd'.
If I can swing it, never again while I live here in the 'Hill will I miss another session with this guy. Local legend, an enigma on the guitar and fiddle - last night it was himself and another support on guitar as he wore through the hair on his fiddle in a fury of traditional gems. Then there's this local youngster whocan't have been more than 15 or so who ripped out his on fiddle and proceeded to send up smoke signals of his own. The young bloke alternated between fiddle and whistle for the rest of the session.

At one punctuating point in the evening this kid's younger brother of about 6 or so was coaxed out of the shadows where he'd been carving crayons on his sketchbook to knock out a slow jig that had the heartstrings taut to tearing. Jayzus...

It was so lovely. With about 12 of us in this dark little front bar, privvy to these guys jam out on a couple of stools in front of the fire (usually a token effort mid-july but this eve's downpour & chill was well warranted). Witness to such subtle lessons passing down by soft spoken word and example. The moment slowed timeless as I saw generations over casting the same knowledge onward.

Revel in this I do - there's bugger all back home in this musical heritage that comes close. But mebe when I while back through the Jermyn's heritage, not too many generations back, County Kerry, County Cork... it's the sounds of home?

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