Yesterday at Granddad’s really did end up being a rest. After panicking that I may have to do the Methodist Youth Worker’s retreat on my own I sat in the garden, basking in the sunshine, apologising to God for being such a doubting wimp. I was acting like the whole thing depended on me rather than this lovely person called Jesus. It was a nice reality check!
I spent a couple of hours writing in my journal, feeling peaceful and banishing the pasty tone from my face. I actually feel pretty prepared now for the next few days and quite excited about taking some time out to relax, meet new people and chat to God.
Thank the Lord (!) Andy is feeling better and arrived this morning. Gill and Lisa picked us up from Dublin airport at lunchtime and we began an uncertain drive into Wicklow. My accent is doing funny things. I am trying very hard to stop it. When I talk to Andy I have a lovely Chichester accent, when I talk to Lisa a little Derry accent emerges from my mouth but whenever I’m around a southerner the Dublin drawl pops up to say hello. I must sound like I’m taking the mick, it’s very embarrassing.
As we pulled into Avoca, across a hump back bridge and up to Fitzgerald’s pub everything had a bizarrely familiar feel. The reason soon became obvious when we noticed the tourist tack shops sporting their very best ‘Welcome to Ballykissangel’ signs…
Yes, that is correct, I am on retreat in the village that played host to that fabulous Irish export. I love it! Sadly I obviously watched far too much of it because I think I could probably find my way around. We shall see. xc