Broithe

I, with two others, run a Facebook page about the old factory. I was there for twenty years, 74-93, one of the others did 1965-2005, but might not have been as 'widespread' as I was, the third started in 1986 and is still there, after various mergers/downsizes/dismemberments. Between us, we generally know most people - this is necessary as Facebook produces a few "trawlers", people who probably hope that they might get a job from their 'involvement', so we need to weed them out from applicants. The youngest of us three came across a load of old company magazine articles, usually with photos, so she stuck them in. They're always interesting. One of these was a retirement presentation, with the happy escapee smiling for the camera. It was a newsprint picture, subsequently photographed for inclusion on the Facebook page, and the chap was named in the caption, but I didn't recognise the name at all. I was about to comment, using the chap's "work name", but was put off by the facts that - A, He was smiling* & B, I didn't recognise his real name. I could have been wrong and upset somebody, so I left it. * The person I had in mind was noted for being exceptionally dour - as we shall see. A few days later, somebody else, with less trepidation than I, posted "Is that Captain Concrete?" This, indeed, was who I thought it was. The oldest of 'us three' doubted that Ken Wells was his real name - "I'm sure it was Cyril Something". There was some, inconclusive, discussion on the page - with one person stating that 'three named people' would actually know what his real name was'. Eventually, one of them arrived and confirmed it was him. It is remarkable that you can work with someone for decades and not know his real name. I had proper work interactions with him, but I don't think I ever heard the name Ken Wells until it was in the caption of that picture.

Having spent most of the last year on the Western Island, and the last five weeks on the Big Island, it is as though nothing has happened here - it's really odd - very similar to the Foot & Mouth scenario... Despite there still being a death every ten to fifteen minutes here... I look forward to escaping westwards again shortly.

I've just been to my first 'large event' on the Big Island since the Great Plague arrived - a Barry Potter toy/train fair. Attendees are probably about 50/50 pre/post pension book age. Masks appeared on about 15 % of the total - and about 25% of those were protecting the apparently highly vulnerable under-chin area. Ventilation was largely non-existent, I would have thought it 'stuffy' two years ago. If breathed-out droplets, touching and multiple handling of products are really an issue, then some people may get a 'result' from being there. There were actually people vaping...

Or further away?

For my own logistical reasons, I have asked the lads to hang onto mine for a couple of weeks - this, of course, means that I may have a postal slot for sale. Sealed bids, obviously. Sealed in a brown envelope - cash only.

Chapter 2 will be "The field behind Lambe's in Ballybrophy"?

We await the rather specialist volume that this picture will, no doubt, form an essential part of - to be written at your convenience, of course. "A stand-up tour of Irish railway toilets"

Gone crossways in the canal?

It's hard stuff to stop. I've had dealings with a patch on the Big Island, allegedly exterminated over a few years before my time, but it kept appearing again for another five or six years, requiring a weekly inspection and instant hit, if any poked up. Sometimes months would pass before it decided to risk it - it's been over two years now since the last appearance, but I'm still not convinced it's really over. Luckily, that patch was in the centre of a very large garden - if it's on both sides of a border, it can get very 'political'.

There are some areas in the Slieve Blooms, where material has probably been dumped and then propagated onwards.

I didn't realise he was still going. He's been around forever, which is almost always a good sign. Rumours are that he worked on the original Stephenson's Rocket!

Whilst size might matter to some extent, we all know that the real key aspect is to get it to squeak properly.

Are they 21mm?

This one is still at Ballybrophy.

Another veiled hint? Ulysses next?

We were at Little Rissington - at 750 feet, facing straight at it on the top of the hill. We couldn't open the upstairs windows at the front of the house. It was quite entertaining, having been in Malta for the preceding few years...

Ah - I have confused myself - I meant DPD, not DHL.

This is always worth a watch. We lived high in the Cotswolds when 'it' arrived - the scale of it was startling.

I understand that they had issues with the electronic door security system, where their badges weren't recognised, so staff couldn't even get into the buildings. This explains why nobody was able to turn it off and back on again.

There can be large regional variations in otherwise 'identical' couriers. DHL would be my preferred deliverer on the Big Island, by far - Andrej will arrive in the first five minutes of the hour that was predicted, infallibly. Others are less reliable - I had a delivery, by Yodel, 'to a neighbour' whilst I was exiled on the Western Island - they informed me by email and I forwarded that to the alleged sender, my phone supplier, as I suspected it was a scam - that neighbour actually found it eight weeks later, hidden behind one of my bins. The sender, having initially denied sending me anything, and knowing that I was in exile, then spent two days ringing me on my UK landline and complaining that I wasn't answering (er....), then, finally emailing me and demanding that I tell them what the label said, when I didn't even know who had it - and nobody actually did.

Hazlehatch is ghoulish again at the moment.

I am concerned about the large stack of pallets - it's probably just as well that they didn't arrive in early July...

Excellent! But, what we really want to know is is that counter in the background really made of giant speakers?

When you're in a hole, stop digging.