
The countryside around Drumcliff is colloquially known as ‘the Yeats country’ (and now signposted as such). It is extraordinarily tranquil and beautiful in a quiet, understated way. These are reflections in Glencar lake, a few miles from Drumcliff.

The countryside around Drumcliff is colloquially known as ‘the Yeats country’ (and now signposted as such). It is extraordinarily tranquil and beautiful in a quiet, understated way. These are reflections in Glencar lake, a few miles from Drumcliff.

The other day, I went to visit WB Yeats’s grave in Drumcliff churchyard. While I was there a coachload of tourists arrived. They immediately got on with the business of snapping the great man’s alleged last resting place (there is some controversy on the matter) before getting on with the serious business of visiting the souvenir shoppe. That whirring sound you hear is of the great man rotating at 5,500 rpm in his grave — wherever it is.

My summer hat, on a French window-sill, yesterday. Photographed with my friend Hap (a genial hat fanatic) in mind. (Although generally sound on the matter of hats, he wears a mere baseball cap in Summer. This is to encourage him to mend his errant ways.)

Photographed in La Rochelle today.

No — I’m not making it up. This is the name of the next village.

In the garden, Tuesday afternoon.


A chap with a passion for his, er, work. Photographed in Aulnay.

Well, it’s one way of keeping cars and pedestrians apart. Photographed yesterday in Niort.
At last, an EU subsidy that brings light rather than heat.