Bryan just left for Donegal and I am feeling pretty sick with myself.  I can't believe something so big happened over something so small.  Let me explain.  When we came up at the beginning of the week we brought a bag of rubbish (you guys call it garbage) with us to throw into the skip at our local refuge yard.  The problem is Donegal opted not to pay rates and so they are not entitled to rubbish collection.  This means you are responsible for your own rubbish and can either pay about 4 euro per bag of trash (see?  I am picking up the language) or, like us, bring it back to the local dump and dump it for free.  Anyway, when we got back home we discovered the yard was closed.  The following day civic workers went on strike, so by day 3 the rubbish in the back of the car wasn't smelling too good.  B insisted on driving his own car to take me to the consultant, so I insisted in leaving the bag out of the car, suggesting we put it in the bin.  B insisted we didn't have time so we left it under the oak tree to protect it from the rain.  Day 4 our wheelie bins were not emptied cause the strike was still on.  The bag remained under the oak tree.

This morning I woke to the sound of birdsong.  Thing is it wasn't the kind of birdsong I like.  It was definitely squawking magpies.  I jumped out of bed and opened the window to see 4 of them hovering over the bag of waste.  They had made holes in it and were tearing out any food they could find inside.  I screamed at them 'Go away you foul beasts! which wakened Bryan.  'What are you doing you mad woman' were the first words of the day he uttered.  That was the start of it with him blaming me for lifting out the garbage in the first place and me blaming him for not putting it in the bin.  Next he reminds me that he had to scrub the Shepherd's Pie dish I had left soaking in the sink the night before.  I reminded him that I had been the one who cooked it and served it to him in front of the television with a very nice glass of Chateuneuf de Pape so he could watch the British Open golf.  And so it turned into a very unpleasant game of verbal tennis as the insults got hit back and forth in a strong volley.

So he got up and showered and took his dog and left for Donegal leaving me lying in bed with my two dogs and my latest novel by Barbara Pym for company.  Somehow or other the book lost its appeal very quickly.  He won't be back until Monday night as we are having new carpets fitted and I have to be at home to take the great aunt to hospital for a new hearing aid on Monday morning.  He did say before he left that he would accept an apology but didn't when he said I didn't sound at all sincere.  He also disliked me telling him he looked like a bit of Victorian furniture (big top, skinny legs, quite unworthy!). 

The sun is shining in Ireland at last.  The sea is calm and the trees very green and I am very blue.  I know I have a whole day to myself before PJ arrives to stay the night, but I don't look forward to it one bit.  He's switched off his cell phone and I can just see his face without a smile.  I really am sorry but it's too late.  Maybe he will really miss me when he gets there.  I mean there's no fun sitting up there looking out at the Atlantic Ocean with Tory Island in the distance, the sun shining and the sea blue without me, is there?  And who's going to bring his dinner in so he can watch the golf?  Course there's the old guys up at Farran's Bar.  The Open will be on there too I suppose and the Guinness is the best.  They all think he's great up there cause they don't have an issue with garbage.  We'll see.