Sunday 19 October 2014

Simple Halloween Centrepiece Ideas

Halloweens is almost here! it's the time to be a child again, dress up and scare the neighbours. There is a great deal that can be done with a pumpkin and for the creatives out there, it's one of the major highlights of the year. But for those less creative, or for those short on time,  I've gathered a few simple Halloween centrepiece ideas here. Have fun!

1. All you need is a PEN for this one.




2. A candle and a few leaves for this beauty. 


3. WHAT COULD BE EASIER? This is just a candle stuck in a pumpkin. 



4. Flowers, flowers, flowers. 



5. Collected from the garden....



6.Spray paint!




7. Water and candles!



8. And finally, this step by step tutorial for those wanting something FABULOUS!



Friday 10 October 2014

National Ploughing 2014 - a long way down

“Pop in and see my cows” was the invitation from a friend last week. He was down at the National Ploughing Championships, Disneyland for farmers and one big agricultural party for the young and old. The buzz is electrifying as hoards of whispering farmers, lean on sticks and spend hours gazing at a Massey Ferguson.

So along with over a hundred thousand others I headed down the N7 towards Ratheniska. With Kfm for company and a two-litre flask of milky tea beside me I soon hit severe congestion. The sun had brought the crowds and the little country road that leads from the N7 to Ratheniska was virtually at a standstill. 

Politicians were shouting over each other to be heard on Kfm as they discussed water charges. Combined with the heat and boredom of a traffic jam, I turned to tea and finished off the whole flask in an hour. Ninety minutes, into the tailback and I was bursting with two litres of tea.

Going nowhere, I phoned Lucy in Thurles, “What am I going to do?”  My bladder was pulsating. “Pull over and do a wee at the side of the road” my friend said, laughing. She wasn’t taking any of it seriously. But it was serious. I was in agony. In the rear view mirror I could see a car full of men in a shiny BMW. In front of me, a muddy truck filled with farmers

“I can’t pull over and wee at the side of the road. I am in a heavily congested country lane”. Added to that, the little road was crawling with guards. My bladder was now burning. “I can’t just wee at the side of the road in front of all of these people!” “You are surrounded by farmers. They won’t even bat an eyelid”. She wasn’t much help.

The traffic was going nowhere. We had been stationary for ten minutes. I looked at the hedgerow and small grass verge. The last time that I had to wee at the side of the road I was probably four years old. Forty years later, could I really do it again? Perhaps I could pretend that I had dropped something out of the window, squat down and look around in the grass and wee without anyone every knowing.

But what if the men in suits thought that I was in difficulty? What if they or the farmers came out of their cars to help me? Then what? It was too risky. I had to think of something else. I had seen a Japanese invention in a magazine some months ago and mocked it. It was called a She-Wee. A small plastic device that women can slide into their underwear, with a clever spout that drains the urine away. It means that women can wee, if they so chose to, standing up. I wish that instead of mocking the She-Wee, I had ordered one.

The emergency was in full swing. I was now sweating. Sweating meant that things were about to get nasty if I did not find a loo soon. This was turning into an episode of ER and there was no way that an ambulance would get to me in time through the traffic. Rocking too and fro, I looked around the car. I found a plant pot on the back seat. It was it a box on its way to the charity shop. The plant pot was a plant pot no more. It was about to become a porta-loo.

Lifting myself up, I sat on the pink M&S ceramic pot. The shouty politicians were still screaming at each on the radio as I started to relieve myself into it. Just as I was about to let out a sigh of relief, the traffic started moving again. Balancing on my potty, I drove on. With my head almost touching the roof of the car. A few metres later the traffic stopped once again. I was parked up right next to young guard at the side of the road.

I kept my eyes fixed on the truck full of farmers in front. The pot was half full but still my poor bladder throbbed. There was much more to go. My face was red from embarrassment and pain when suddenly, a tap on the window.  “Is everything ok?” a young male guard asked. Perched on my pot, I kept my eyes on the road ahead. “Fine” I shouted back through the glass. He must have registered some kind of distress or suspicion on my face.



The last half an hour was the longest of my life. I have never driven with such concentration. I negotiated bends in the road, small bumps and passed at least three hundred people as I made my way to the car park at Ratheniska. All the time, balanced on a plant pot. Thirty minutes later and I was parked up in a field with another thirty thousand cars. When the coast was clear, I emptied my plant potty into a nearby hedge. I could breathe again.

I found the Irish Countrywomen’s Association tent and took in a butter making demonstration and a jam making class. In the nearby retail tent, I discovered the delicious Man of Aran Fudge and bought a sack of daffodil bulbs and some soap before setting off to find Des Dunne and his stall. 

I found him standing beside two hugs black and white Belted Galloways. He was there to promote the breed and the Belted Galloway Club of Ireland. “Guess how much she weighs?” ha asked me. I looked at the black and white heffer. She was the size of my Citreon Picasso C4. “She weighs over 614 kilos,” he told me. I looked at her with admiration. That’s 96 stone.

She must have a huge bladder.