The Play’s the Thing

Yesterday I was supposed to go to a Eurovision party, where people dress up like the countries competing in the song contest. I’m a weird introvert who loves the idea of a party but gets a bit panicky when party time nears and I try to visualise myself having fun in a room full of extroverts. When I was a small child, I was sent away to summer camp with my sister after my father died. I refused to leave her side--infuriating her--and sometimes I don’t think I’ve changed that much.

I was delivered from my excitement/dread when I realised that last night was the final performance of Here Comes the Night, a play set in Belfast in both 1966 and present day. I gave the party’s host my regrets and went to the play, which was excellent. So many funny funny lines that flew past in a blizzard of East Belfast banter. The Lyric Theatre is a gem--I’m never disappointed by their productions.

Of course I still have tons of Balmoral photos. While the livestock pens take up much of the acreage, there are also scores of equipment dealers with big rigs of every stripe. I wish I’d taken a survey of salesmen to find out what these big boy toys are actually used for.

Some sheep:

I tried to remember all their names but I can’t. Suffolk? The ones below may or may not be blue-faced Leicester.

I’m pretty sure these are zwartbles, which would be a great Scrabble word.

Here’s a horny fellow:

One of several sheep tents:

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