The annual outdoor sittings of Tynwold, the Manx Parliament, (and Manx National Day) is held on 5th July on St’ John’s Hill, and dates waaay back to when the Viking's first settled, in the eighth century.
It remains largely unchanged to this day, and provides a platform for new laws to be proposed, and for older ones to be revised. On this day, Citizens are also invited to air any grievances, or to even submit their own Bills for consideration, should they so wish to do so (and isn’t that something?)!
‘Course, much of it is mere pomp and ceremony, but it’s truly a sight worth seeing. Once the speeches and fanfare dies down, we have marching bands and parades go by. Later, the green spills over to games, events, numerous displays, and a huge fair, replete with stalls, tents, burger vans, and bouncy castles.
It’s certainly the place to be on a National holiday, especially if the sun is up!
Crofter’s display the olden skills of weaving and wafting, Celtic bands play live, out in the open air gardens of the surrounding Pub’s and local Inn’s, and generally a fine and happy time is to be had by all.
(I always think our police look a bit of a tit, wearing that on their head.)
It felt odd not having the girls come with us this year (they still being abroad on their respective school trips), but Sam, as ever, graced us with his presence (unlike his big brother, Matt, who is far too cool to be seen out with his parents, well certainly not in broad daylight).
Sam and his dad had just arrived home from Ireland the night before, and we were still officially celebrating his birthday (which he’s shamelessly eeked out for over almost two weeks now). When we returned home, he was just set to blow the final candles out on cake number 5, when..
..we had to briefly postpone it, for Matt to catch up with our thieving mutt.
That’s Little Stevie there, Matt’s friend, laughing in the background. See, Jake has this annoying habit of running off with mobile phones, and he’s just stolen Matt’s one from off of the counter top. Thankfully, the idiot hound doesn’t chew or damage them, but he isn’t adverse to hiding, or better still, burying them - it’s a kind of warped game of his. The last time he stole Matt’s phone, the poor lad had had to excavate it from out of the “poo patch” (a task far from pleasant, believe me)!
However, this time Jake didn’t get too far (smile).
Later, I took my camera and myself down for a wander through the glen. We’ve had a lot of ruckus going on in there as of late; a bunch of young neer-do-well’s have been marauding about on our property during the wee small hours, keeping not only us, but half of the neighbourhood awake. So, when I heard them up to their old tricks again, I sprinted out down there, in the hopes of finally catching them red-handed.
And sure enough, there they were!
There must be at least six wild rooster’s (probably more) living the good old life out here, with their harem of lady-folk. It's been nothing short of, “Cock-a-doodle-do” here, and, "Cock-a-doodle-do" there, from late evening dusk, ‘til the early morning dawn. So much so, there has even been talk of the council rounding them up to be either re-homed, or culled. I sincerely doubt it will actually come down to that, well, I certainly hope not (they’d need to get through me first)..!
Noisy as they are, I find I've grown quite fond of them.
Gorgeous, aren’t they? (Grin.)
Returning back to the house, I found this pheasant lurking around in our veggie-patch. I presume he’s one of the family of pheasants that hang out together at the bottom of the garden.
Pheasants, bonny as they are, are thick as two short planks, they must be the stupidest of birds in the entire feathered population – I’m amazed folk even feel the need to ever shoot them, since they’d quite happily allow anyone to simply step on them, at will.
Least that's what I've found, um, not that I've ever stomped on one you understand, no, no, no, well of course not, no, let me make this perfectly loud and clear; I am not a pheasant stomper, never have been, never will be - I'm simply saying, is all..
Anyhow's, seriously, they saunter up the drive without a care in the world, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to exit the car to shoo them all out of the way, even beeping the horn doesn’t get them to shift!
Hmn, I wasn’t going to do this, but I find I can’t help myself – sorry, but I can’t end yet without doing just a wee bit of crowing of my own (I always promised myself I would never, never, ever turn into one of those strutting mother’s, the kind who drives everyone demented, bragging loud and long about their boring offspring, but hey, c'mon, that was waaay before I ever had any kids of my own, and discovered, unlike every other person's children, mine are so very, very un-boring-like, and as so, deservedly need to be advertised, such is my solemn duty to mankind, okay?).
My eldest’s IB exam results arrived through yesterday, and he’s achieved
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! He’s sailed far above the required grades, securing his first choice place at Newcastle University.
Certainly is shaping up for a wonderful summer over at the Shinky household ..
COCK-A-DOODLE-DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!