Skip to main content

On Boose

In Leeds, they tend to abbreviated things. You are not 'on the bus' you are 'on boose'. You are not 'in your car' you are 'in kaaa'. You are not...well, you get the picture.

I take the boose to work every day and D is often referencing the fact that I get 'on booose'. I can no longer pronounce the work bus...even looking at that on screen, I hear 'boose' in my head.

Cleaning the apartment last night, I found a scrunched up piece of paper I had written a posting on months ago. Since my brain is filled with many things, I figured I would share this with you today:

'I scoffed at the thought of having to take the booose to Drogheda to get the train to Belfast. Normally, the train goes directly from Dublin to Belfast but it was Sunday and in Ireland people do work on God's day as there was track works going on.

I had arrived at Connolly Station, ready to get my seat on the train, zone out with a book and my lunch. After attending a book launch in Tipperary the following Saturday, I really just wanted to get back to my house and my Sunday Times and my roast chicken dinner.

The thought of getting on a booose, getting comfortable and only then to have to uproot and move to another form of transport in Drogheda, race amongst other passengers and scurrying like families of ants to get the best places to sit was not my idea of a good hangover-Sunday activity.

Then I looked out the window.

I realised being on boose meant seeing the countryside and this was not just any country, this was Ireland.

I was touring Ireland by boose, watching the villages go by as if I was on my own holiday, in my own car.

I was actually doing what so many times I had wanted to do - what people always say is so spectacular.

Touring the Irish countryside. And I was doing it all by chance. Wow.

One of life's little gifts.'

I will miss Ireland but I know I will have great memories from my time here that I can take away with me and will always be part of my every day life.

Just like the Leeds boose.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I'm baaaack!

Hard to believe that last entry was almost three years ago!

Many moons ago, I set this blog up to chronicle our journeys. Once we were grounded a bit more, it kind of lost its way. I spent some time working on my writing offline, taking on different projects and working full time as a technical writer. It was difficult to keep this blog up. Not for any real reason I can articulate. Just had my words redirected to other avenues for awhile.
But, I'm pleased to say, after over a decade away, we are back in the UK, living and re-experiencing a place we enjoyed in the mid-2000s.
Social media has certainly changed the way we look at blogs. I'm excited to navigate this new world, explore just what people post, what people read. What's better on one of the many new platforms and what's still appropriate for good old fashioned blogosphere.
For now, here's a peek at where we're staying -- in a pretty little village just outside of Oxford. A temporary home for now but suc…

Focus

My regular journaling has significantly improved my mood.

I've been taking some time, twice a week, to polish existing content as well as develop my floating ideas into a more concrete outline.

I've felt this focus for the last 6 weeks that I can't really describe properly. It's as though I've shifted my thinking totally. Writing is my craft. It's what I do, who I am, how I exist. It's like my mojo.

So, I guess, I've gotten my mojo back. My focus, my purpose, my essence.

And it feels good. It feels right. And I am almost understanding more now why the best writing of the best writers happens when they are older, more polished, more experienced, more rough around the edges.

When all the youthful spark has been extinguished and what's left, is the determined embers, that will not go softly, that will not die out. That will continue, fervently glowing, creating warmth and not just drawing attention from its flicker, but pulling people in by it's so…

In Remembrance

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,."

When I was eight years old, I carried the Canadian flag in the Remembrance Day parade for our Brownie unit. I can't really remember when I realized the importance of November 11 but I can only imagine that somewhere between learning about that day at school and taking part in a very solemn ceremony that it must have been ingrained in my head to always mark this day.

   "That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly"

I remember growing up, the assemblies at school, always with a older veterans, in those days many from both World Wars, would attend. When I got to high school, I remember not being able to fathom how these decorated men and women, had once been my age, had once stood up and fought, and had made these decisions during the same years I would try to decide which route to take from English to Science just to maybe catch a glimpse of my current cru…