Yes, I know that I am one of many orthographically challenged. My feeble excuse is that it is the mark of an experienced teacher when your spelling goes to hell. I should know - lifting my 1976 Chambers dictionary from floor to laptop provides my daily workout. But read on.
Like my regular readership of 4 - now 5, I am reliably informed - I have been toiling away at keeping the greying head above the flood waters of recession. I have been touring Ireland, visiting golf courses as remote as Ballyliffin and Waterville - just God's little joke to put the best courses at the ends of the earth. I have been trying to inform, educate and entertain some bemused visitors in various languages and I have been marking ("grading" to you, ma'am) some senior tourism papers, the highlight of which was the information that "the Channel Tunnel runs directly from London to Paris."
And I have been delighted and immensely cheered these past two days by three things: a group of senior citizens, a couple from Tennessee and the bees in our back garden. To wit: I had the undiluted pleasure of touring with 50 senior citizens - "recycled teenagers" as one wag put it - from the north east of Scotland, Peterhead direction, to be precise. In contrast to the surliness of youth and the temperament of middle age, these good folk were a pure pleasure to accompany.
Not only did they have the good sense to stay on the north coast, thereby saving me a 120 mile round trip every day, they did not attempt to see the entire country in 48 hours. They left me to plan their days out in such a way that I could bring them to the nooks and crannies of three counties which most tourists never see because they will not dedicate the necessary time and besides, Rick Steves doesn't mention it, so it's not worth seeing. Really.
Thus I was able to patronise (hence the crooks and nannies) the delightful Ulster American Folk Park and the Glenariff Tea House and was able to show off the best of counties Antrim, Derry and Tyrone to our guests. But what really made my days was their attitude. None of the foot-stomping, tongue wagging and clockwatching petulance of their younger counterparts but a care and concern for one another and the God-given ability to laugh at themselves - in spades. People, I thank you. If the me-generation begat the I-pod generation then the "may I?" generation beats you hands down every time.
And on that score, another thank you to a couple from Knoxville who are much too modest to be named. I played Portrush and Portstewart with himself - at least I did till my calf muscle exploded 6 holes out - and he was southern manners exemplified, as was his good lady, who not only took the time and trouble to arrange very personal and appropriate gifts for my wife but who wrote the nicest possible "thank you" note. Consideration personified.
And finally, to the bees. We have been having a great spell of weather recently and it has been my pleasure, after a long day looking after others, to indulge myself with a beer and a leisurely contemplation of the wonderful purple-headed shrubs (hebes?) which Carol has produced in our back yard. And I have been watching the bees working away. I am told that there is great concern in GB that the bee population may suddenly drop dramatically and pollination may do likewise.
Well, I can assure you that our bees are alive and well and beeavering away in these recessionary times. And what cheers me up is that they quietly get on with it; they don't interrupt another at work, they don't swarm round the photocopier; they return again and again to each flowerhead until they are done and they leave me alone as I leave them alone.
I can hear my readership buzzing ahead of me as I write - if homo sapiens could manage even the half of that, we'd all be flying, wouldn't we?
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