The world has been swimming in front of my eyes since St Patrick’s day. There are those who will blame my Black Velvet cocktails (Guinness, Pro Secco, and just a suspicion of Gin) but I attribute my seasickness to a new pair of spectacles. For the first time, I have progressive lenses (“my dear–even her very lenses are progressive–that’s what 13 years in the nation’s capital will do”) and thus I can no longer look sideways at people without falling over. This is a shame as shooting sideways glances has been one of my very few forms of exercise. My frames are green, naturally, and overall my vision is much improved. I can see at a distance and up close and when last I checked I can still look askance, even if not askew, so that’s a blessing.
The Itchy Ankle neighbors convened on Sunday at the Blarney abode, glad of St Patrick’s day when the whole world is invited to start drinking early in the day and on an empty stomach. The Guinness recipes were courtesy of Henry Dimbleby (check them out here) and no-one came to too much grief, even if they did not have my beer goggles as an excuse for stumbling and staggering. I used my own recipes for the food and deconstructed the full Irish breakfast for which my native island is justly famed. ( “It will set you up rightly, so it will”). I made a savory bread pudding which involved onions, bacon, cubes of bread, 18 eggs, a lot of cream and half a pound of Irish cheddar.
Jeffrey’s dad made delicious cinnamon and raisin bread which I passed off as a tea loaf, and Gretel’s grocery provided a decent shrimp salad. I also cooked a number of racks of lamb, but they were eaten before I had a chance to take a snap.
Peggoty and Ms. Monroe did their usual convincing leprechaun and sprite impersonations and Barkis channeled his inner Finn MacCool. There was no banshee behavior. Speaking of little people, Spud Hughes sent the picture below from Belfast. Fine and well he’s looking. Or maybe my new specs aren’t as good as I’d like to think they are.