May All Your Sons be Bishops

I’m right in the middle of the nesting phase in Hearthill. The fine weather has allowed me to get all the necessary baby accoutrements and clothing washed and aired and so we’re ready for the arrival of my little Brosnan. The fine weather and by fine I mean, warmish, dampish, soft (a great Irish word for describing the rain that just dampens the grass and ground enough whilst leaving the rest of us soaking) has meant that silage ground is ready for mowing. It’s an unspoken topic here really. Should he mention to the hormonal other that a silage dinner may need to be cooked in the next few weeks? Best not. But we can see the grass grow now. Everyone in Hearthill is happy and ready for what this fine Summer has to offer.

As for the title? I overheard it last weekend in the local hospital where one nurse was thanking another for lending a hand. First coined by Brendan Behan, the lovely Kerry nurse had used it in thanks. So to you who has been reading along this last while and to you who has helped the grass grow, in the Kerry way; ‘Bless you and May All your Sons be Bishops.’

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