I have been getting 'the Mail' from my sister for donkeys years and only a few weeks ago I told her to save a bit of money and stop sending it to me here in Spain. I told her I could get the news online before she does in Lurgan. She of course does not believe me att all.She says " Yer ony coddin me " She still boils the kettle on the blocks and turf, in the hearth.Still makes a quare mug of tay , mind you. A couple of hanfulls of tay into the water and Bob's your uncle, you could stand a spoon in it Does grate wheaten and soda farls , and its many a day since I had one of them straigh off the griddle on the range, and handed to me with a clipe of country butter in it ,and the butter running down roun your elbow. Man a man, I can taste it this minute.This land in which I live now is a far cry from the Lough and Bannfoot, Low Island, on them sunny days of yore , when we would set out , 6 or 7 of us in a bunch, with a piece, off down 'the plain' past Sally Gracey's Lonen , past Silverwood , on to The Red Row, where we had to stop at 'the pump a fill ourselves up with the pure cold water ,by puttig our mouths under the spout, what an adventure, on out by Cuppages and then out the small narrow lanes , with their white walls, and thatched or courrogated tin rooves.Then on to 'the Low' and paddling in the water , near to where all the pigs were penned. I.m not sure what I.m doin here writing this , just roamin in the past ,and it costs nothin to be a child again on this fine sunny day in a small whitewashed village . on the South East coast of Spain . Hasa luego, mi amigo . Vaya con Dios.

Quixote