A Day Off

We spent yesterday's rainy day taking a vacation from our vacation, uploading photos and putzing around the house in our bathrobes. We befriended a little pug named Molly who decided to pop in through the open garden door, leaving a trail of wet doggy footprints along the slate floor as she sneezed her way through the house. We listened all day to Irish radio, trying to count the number of times they said "movin' on from that." There was plenty of coffee, staring out to sea, listening to the rain. I even peeked on the internet, where everyone seems to be getting along fine without me.

I particularly enjoyed Maud's dead-on list of Ten Novels and Short Stories That Would Make Good Movies, and kicked myself for not buying the black-edged paperback of The End of Mr. Y I saw in the Liverpool shops during our short stopover a few days back for a good re-read.

But regrets aren't allowed on my vacations. No sir.*

I'm off soon to abuse my body in the waters of Galway Bay for two hours by attempting surf lessons. Gidget goes to Ireland? Let me consult my list. Ponytail? Check. Fifties sweater? Check. Reckless abandon? Check. Perky attitude? After my coffee.

*Regret No. 1 (France, 2005): Passing up a trip to the flea market in Provence.
Regret No. 2 (Italy, 2006): Using our last cash on train tickets in Milan and turning up in Venice penniless and surrounded by non-working ATMs.
Regret No. 3 (California, 2007): Leaving.

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