Some views, of small pleasures

 Goodness, is that another week nearly done? It's been  fair to medium on our Richter scale here. Lots of bright blue days with some tangible heat from the sun. I pathetically can't remember which day was so lovely and so mellow that I was struck by many small pleasures, but here are some them! Below is my private nut cupboard.

 Our friend whose painting has taken off recently gave us one which he said wasn't very good. I'm delighted that he doesn't like it because we most certainly do! It's a view of the tiny "village" of Portbradden which nestles in a corner at the foot of the North Coast's cliffs. If you scramble round the rocks at low tide you come to the sweeping sands of White Park Bay. We have atmospheric photos of the boys playing cricket in fading evening light below those same cliffs, and stayed one weekend with my parents in the end cottage of the fishermen's terrace.

 This week has been a week of finally putting things on walls. Goaded by the fact that we have been here very nearly one whole year, we resolved not to argue over what went where, but just to do it. So we did. Mostly.

 In the process I found a little stand that now holds Mattman's art leaf. I didn't find any batteries for the clock. It worked when we got it. It was an engagement present in 1997....

 The landing avec tableaux. It makes quite a difference! The place feels much more like home. We should have made more of an effort before this. "We" probably should have made more of an effort to put "our" dressing gown away as well.

 So to today's view. Rainy, grey and cold. I was reading Dormouse's blog this week and she described March as a false lover. That's definitely an Irish March.

And here are definitely some Irish musicians: two harpists and a guy on pipes. In a pub. In the city centre. Yes, I was out last night- midweek on a school night on my own! Well, not really on my own , but with a friend. The storytelling session we wanted to hear was all full up so we went to a bar I've been longing to see for ages.

It's in one of Belfast's old, old warehouses and when you walk past all you can see is a scaffold of old, old beams going up three floors. We were pleasantly surprised to find at the back a very cosy room with open peat fire and sofas right beside the harps and pipes.

The Dirty Onion. Oh go. It is a delight. And when we tried again we managed to slip into the storytelling session across the road as well.