Last night the husband came home late, and when he finally went to bed, he snored so loudly and for so long that when he stopped snoring, I poked him to make sure he was alive.

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Happy St. Paddy's Day! The bar will open in time for the first parade since 2019. During the summer of 2020, you'd spot faded shamrocks still stuck to schoolroom windows. I don't know how the day will turn out — everyone seems to have covid, creche closed and art centre understaffed, even the Taoiseach has covid. "The town is riddled with it," said Noel last night.

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Yesterday I showed off the book to friends in the castle cafe. Someone said the title reminded him of "that Iranian vampire fill-um"; he's the first person to discern the reference. Afterwards I walked Sam to the woods. Wood pigeons purred between sunshowers. Everywhere I turned, there were rainbows. Later I read about the Saharan dust storm that rendered skies orange over Spain. "Blood rain" over Ireland today, predict the tabloids. (No sign of it yet.)

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dustsceawung (Old English): “contemplation of the dust”: reflection on former civilisations and peoples, and on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.

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