Whilst Wales suffered from an overdose of our national natural resource ( for the uninitiated that's rain) and the Ryder cup was destined to an extra day, East Cork dawned bright. A deep dew covered the meadow with a light ground mist forming as the early morning sun gently heated it. The apples still on the trees glistened with a covering of tiny water droplets seen usually only in beer commercials.
Eggs melded with cream, butter and pepper before being slid on to toast as an unctuous scramble and the early morning coffee tasted rich and strong, the aroma scenting the air and counterpointing the remaining woodsmoke of last night's open fire.
But enough of this travel supplement writing.
Breakfast over, it was the day of rest. That meant tackling the rest of the filing. Ironing and tidying the cottage.
The filing was straightforward and was soon tucked securely in plastic pockets, categorised and bound into ring binders.
The ironing proved less of a challenge than last week, or perhaps I settled for a lower standard ( better not get too good or the negotiated settlement I have at home - I receive ironing in return for edible hot food - will crumble) but whatever, it doesn't look as though I have actually slept in it, and an apron covers a multitude of sins (or creases as I believe them to be called).
Hanging from the wardrobe door the uniform looked as though it would pass scrutiny at school.