Thursday, 3 September 2015


The Liberties are largely a rural area, as I'm sure you all know by now, and so in recognition of that fact we dedicate this post to the humble furrow.  Important things, furrows.  Without them we wouldn't get no spuds and that, dear readers, would be a national disaster in this part of the world (Ed: again.  That would a national disaster again in this part of the world).

I've done furrows before (a very long time ago) but I was out and about a while ago and spied these ones.  So I stopped the car, got out and pointed a camera at them.   Now it has to be said that the lads and increasingly the lasses who live in and around The Liberties know how to turn a sod.  If you don't believe me, look here - World Champions at it, no less.

Lovely lines
My horizon appears to be off again - seems to be happening rather frequently these days.  I think I actually stand a bit lop-sided - probably due to me dodgy hips, what with all their titanium parts, ceramic heads, screws, bolts, chicken-wire and whatever else the surgeon had lying about at the time.  I shall endeavour to build myself in an autonomic self-levelling feature in the hope that the old snaps turn out better in the future.

Autonomic: (au-to-nom-ic)  adj.
1. Physiology
a. Of, relating to, or controlled by the autonomic nervous system.
b. Occurring involuntarily; automatic: an autonomic reflex.
2. Resulting from internal stimuli; spontaneous.

(Ed: was that really necessary?)

Anyway, furrows, or drills as they are known around here.  Here's some more for you:

Look at that rich soil - just right for spuds
I think there's probably a decent photograph of furrows waiting to be taken - by someone with a lot more talent for this game than me, though.  The light that day was very flat, as it tends to be a lot in this part of the world, what with all our lovely clouds and everything.  Think of it as a big soft-box.

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