The river level on Sunday at Shannonbridge reads 4.2 metres and a lot of land is flooded.

News today that the other young man in Waterford John Grey has also died. Seems that they were chewing wet cocaine at a party. May he rest in peace and may his death be a warning to others,

Heard on the radio that Dana was in Easons in Ballinasloe yesterday signing copies of her autobiography called “All Kinds of Everything “. Almost wrote singing copies but in Shannonbridge we remember her for the film which was filmed in part around Shannonbridge called “The Flight of The Doves” way way back.

Paul Durkan has launched his new book titled The Laughter of Mothers.

Today’s paper has a large advertisement with a photo of Cloghan Castle for sale.

You can see it under propertynews.com search for Banagher. To me it looks a lot like what Clononey Castle probably looked like.

This afternoon there was the annual Ecumenical Carol Service in Clonmacnois.

Some seventy people gathered in Temple Connor and sang hymns and listened to readings from Genesis and Isaiah X 2 and one each from Matthew and Luke.

A welcome hot drink and refreshments were provided by Tom Moore and the staff of the Visitor Center afterwards.

I noticed somebody with a brochure of The Irish High Cross Exhibition Guide. This was an exhibition of copies of many High Crosses from around Ireland which was on display in Dublin recently. You may find more information and possibly pictures at www.museum.ie

Flann O Riain has a weekly bit in The Irish Times where he discusses the origin of Irish words. When I saw a recent column headed Where’s That? Derry naturally I was curious. Here goes –

Similar words for “wood” are coil and doire, the latter having the more detailed meaning – “an oak grove, a thicket; a thicket on a steep incline”. This in turn derives from dair, meaning “an oak, oak timber. Universally Doire has been anglicised Derry, with a further 1,300 qualifying elements. It appears that the location of Doire an Chairn is no longer known, nor its anglicised form, but the haunting lines of Binn sin, a luin Doire an Chairn / ni chualas I naird do mbith ceol / ba bhinne na do ghuth / agus tu fa bhun do nid – a poem of the Fenian cycle from Laoithe na Feinne.

And figure this one out for yourself says O Riain – Derry, informs the Shorter Oxford Dictionary, is “ A meaningless word used in refrains of songs; hence a set of verses.

Just thought like me you would want to know.

Declan Ryan is hoping to add the odd bit or more hopefully to this website as soon as he gets a connection. So say a prayer he gets connected.

Declan attended a car rally recently which was started in Stormont Castle and had much of its trials in Donegal and Sligo. One of the more fancied drivers ran out of road in the Yeats Country and of course this has been put to verse or worse. Here goes –

The Stolen Stage

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above his car,

The fans among the bushes

Can’t believe they’ve lost their star

Where dips the rocky highland

To the stage around the lake

You’ll find a fucked-up Focus

And a Finnish Irish Wake

Where the wall is slightly dented

They’ll come from far & wide

To see the spot in Sligo

Where Gronholm’s hopes just died

Come away, O Marcus child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the WRC’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Another small poet described it thus –

Untitled

There was a young Finn man called Marcus

Who liked to drive fast in a Focus

He flew round the bend

But the bend did not end

Now his elbow is near where his arse was!

Think that WRC stands for World Rally Competition or equivalent.

The third poem goes like this. Is there a lost yeat behind the gate ?

The Lake Bend of WRC

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small sound-proof cabin build there, of hay and tyres made:

Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone there in a glade that’s WRC – free

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes feckin slow,

Droppimg from the Veil of Mourning to where the Frenchman sings;

There, Citroen’s all a glimmer, and Loeb a purple glow,

And evening full of the Focus wings. ( & bits of wheels … & things )

Ah Fuck it !...

I will arise and go now, to the Rally in GB

And a small Frenchman kill there, with a torque wrench or a blade

Nineteen stages will I win there, and the title WRC

And retire in peace & happiness in a car that Henry made.

I’ll no longer hear lake water lapping,

with low sounds by the shore

or listen for Sebastian’s car

passing with a roar.

So I’m off home to Finland

A land that’s full of lakes,

But no stone walls around them

No need for F;%*in brakes.

Cast a cold eye on Life & Rallying

Frenchman, Pass by