Rowan Tree and Red Thread

I'm in Fitzgerald Park with the kids this lunchtime while Sam has her consultation hour. The sun is out, the sky is blue and I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Oscar is tottering around the playground intent on trying everything ignoring the plummeting falls he risks as he climbs ladders and pitches himself headfirst down slides. He currently entertaining himself with someone elese's bicycle, indulging his passion for wheels.

Rowan the meanwhile is introducinh herself to other families and informing them of her impending birthday as she plays on slides, swings and see-saw.

Sunshine and smiling children - the antidote to Februaries.

It's a long weekend and we're in the park again. The weather's looking up
and we may even risk a barbecue later. I'm watching a gang of boys try
various methods of football retrieval, one of their number having kicked
their ball in the pond. Stones thrown, dares about swimming and wading, even
negotiations with a passing dog - all have been tried without success.

I'd recommend getting the park warden, but given that he had to improvise a
250 ml waterbottle into a firebucket the other week I suspect he's lacking
the tools too.

After a brief expression of interest, Rowan has decided collecting daisies
is more compelling. I have to agree with her.

We were all in Fitzgerald Park yesterday for a picnic, making the most of the fading good weather. We were sitting down near the pond, gradually working our way through the various goodies sammywol had brought, when she said "there's a fire in that bush," gesturing at the stand of shrubs and trees between the pond and the river. Indeed there was.

I went over and found a small fire set with paper and plastic rubbish, under a bush, that was burning away nicely and in the process of setting the bush alight. I quickly discovered that sandals are not the best footwear for stamping out fires, but also that they serve adequately to kick earth over the fire to put it out.

sammywol fetched the park keeper and I showed him where the fire had been. He went off to get some water to put it out good and proper, which is just as well, as it recaught while he was off getting a 75cl bottle of water. Strange that the corporation doesn't see fit to provide him with a bucket, but that's hardly the worse demonstration of Cork City Council's stupidity.

Rowan and I filled our own 75cl bottle from the pond and splashed water over the smouldering remains and left feeling extra-virtuous.

Out in Fitzgerald Park today. Parking the car we all commented on the
ice-cream van near the gate. I bought ice cream for the three of us (Oscar
can get his second-hand).

As we sat on a park bench devouring our ninety-nines, Rowan turned to me and
said, "you are the best ice cream man, dada."

You heard it here first.

I was in Fitzgerald Park today with my daughter Rowan, pushing her on the swing like the good daddy automaton I am, when a group of young adults went by. They were all dressed pretty formally, mostly dark shades, muted greys and blacks. The fellows were in suits, the lasses in evening wear. This was notable as the day has been glorious, full of splintering spring sunshine and refreshing gusty winds.

These kids were definitely on the goth side of life, tousled black hair, angsty expressions and the like. Imagine my surprise when they all trooped over to the ice cream van parked by the playground and dutifully queue to buy enormous whipped ice cream in cones, joking and giggling in the queue as they waited.

I love happy goths.