Blogtrotter

Ag léamh leabhar faoi na fuar.

Tá sé fuar teach agam ann. Léigh mé (as Béarla) "An tImeall na Fhuadach" le 'Séan na Samraidhe' aréir, agus nuair bhí mé leaba agam ann, bhain mé níos fuar! Cén fáth? Scríobh sé faoi scríobhneoir go gorta a chaith sé á díol a scéalaí go a chead Straid na Shlua na Loinsaigh agus a dara-- nuair chaill sé na seans-- go a shraidbhaile Bhreatain Bheag bhocht. Ach, níl sé ag beir buartha go maith. Is an geimreadh. Tá baisteach go leor ann. Tá sé sneachta agus fearthainn go géar gach lá agus gach oíche. Níl ro-te amháin na tí air ann. Thig liom ag tuigeadh aimsir go gairid agamsa féin.

Ar an bpointe na leabhar seo ann, tá 'Siôn Parri' (chuir mé ainm air as Bhreatnais) ag tosaíonn ag obair nuachtan na sheachtaine. Mar sin, ní aithne air faoi 'an cló.' D'ith anraithe chneamha mhuc agus d'ól cocoa agus tae. Dhíol sé sean-rhifla. Cheannaigh sé clóscríobhan. Is mian leo a déanamh saol ag scríobh. Is maith liom stair seo.

Uair seo, fanann mé ag lorg fear ag tógáil inneall air ais a déanamh te teach againn. Níl sé anseo fos. Tá sé go deireadh. (Rinne mé seo é go raibh ag lorg dha focal amháin, "clóscríobhan," a feiceáil má dhéanfainn* é. Mar sin, bhíonn mé cárta ar feachaint briathra agus forainmneacha réamhnafhoclachta. Fuair mé "conditional tense"* faoi "déan" ag fáil sé ar an fócloir anseo. Tá dha focal tuilleadh a faighte anois!)

Reading a book about the cold.

It's cold in the house. I read (in English) "The Edge of Violence" by John Summers (I put his name in bog-Irish) last night, and when I had this book in bed, I got colder. Why? He wrote about a starving writer that had to sell his stories to first Fleet Street and secondly-- when he lost the chance-- to return to his poor Welsh village. But, he did not meet any success. It's the winter. It's snowing and raining harshly every day and every night. There's nearly no heat in his house. I can feel the bitter weather myself.

At this point in the book, John Parry's (I put his name in Welsh) starting to work for a weekly newspaper. However, he lacks the knowledge of 'the press.' He eats hambone soup and drinks cocoa and tea. He sold an old rifle. He bought a typewriter. He wants to make a life living by writing. I like this account.

At this hour, I am looking for the man to repair the machinery to heat our house. He's not here still. He's late. (I wrote this with looking up only two words, "typewriter," to see if I could do it. I did have my verb and "preposition" glance card, however. I found the "conditional tense"* under "to do/make" by getting it in the dictionary here. Now, two more words to have found!)

Image/grianghraf: Ag baisteach ar an Thuisceart na hÉireann/ Raining in the North of Ireland.