Dolphin Address 41
October 27th 2005
'Shed a tear at the thought of the winter to come'. Maybe good stuff for a singer songwriter, but it rang out like a menace in the actual prospect. I'd seen it coming for a while now. Ireland has all this green for a reason. The rains are torrential. The road puddles splash over the roof when I hit them with the bus. Now and then a truly cold night, a few times close to frost. I then hang a sleeping bag before the slide door, a woolly for the rear and my super duper coat between the wheelhouse. Lit a few foil cups and home free. When the computer batteries are empty I start the engine and the heating comes with it. No problem to write.
But where my mind met the silver screen my body got kind of restless by all this sitting down. The firewood I had found just behind Lackanishka, the ruins of the hunger village, after sawing and splitting turned out to be of such fine grain that it reminded me of boxwood, one of my favourites in the old days. On inquiry John McNamara knew name and origin: the Latin name is 'Oleana traversii', the Irish call it no other than 'wood' and it originates from New Zealand. It is the only tree species that is not blown askew and shaved up by the salty winds and grows to seven meters. I went for my knife and in a cloud of shreds and sweat I whittled the dolphin fluke depicted at 'Dolphin Address' number 39. The pressure area shows a lightening water illusion.
This was just do-able in the bus. But my old love for spatial shape was rekindled and after I hopped over and back by Ryanair for a dime to the Duisburg Zoo for parley and had observed the wing from behind my window and after I photographed Gannets feather sharp by tele-lens in machine gun mode I wanted to give shape to a new idea for the WaterWing. This is not possible inside the bus, so I slid the extra slab of plywood out, mounted a vice upon it and started on the new profile in a flurry of sawdust. That was just about do-able, but then came the showers and the bus became a weather box. When it rained I sat down to the computer and when dry I was out working, but most aggravation went into the changing in between.
There was no future in this. I asked around for a place out of the wind and under a roof and it was Mick, my neighbour teddy bear, resourceful and surnamed O'Toole, who, together with Mary, cherished limelight of the social epicentre of Fanore, runs the local Siopa, who offered me part of their shed after excavation. It became a workaday of re-allotting gas tanks, boxes full of wrap waste and old shop shelves. A lifting experience.
An old horse stable reappeared, with partition walls, water basins and a true rack. I was, and still am, pleased as Punch with my new dwelling. The floor, like the one on the farm in 'Lowlands Paradise' is of concrete slabs, like the green, green grass of home. My tools I conveniently arranged on the shelves, so everything is available like for a surgeon to start operating. Above all a 300 Watt halogen lamp, giving warmth with the light and my computer in a drip free corner. I scored a chair at 'Lazy Tom's' the epicure centre of Fanore and an oasis for wine lovers and German sausages. And so the music plays until the dead of night, while in the shed I conquer the waters with a Dusty halo around my head.
The long term weather forecast for the winter looks very bad with a record prediction of minimal temperatures from January until May. I am in the frontal trench for eyewitness report. Stay tuned.
Jan Ploeg, Meadow Fanore, October 27th 2005
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