“OH, I do like to be beside the seaside...” So went the Cockney music-hall song of the early 20th century.

TO ME — as to most of us — many parts of Ireland are a foreign country, one which, in general, is full of fascination.

The cliffs of the Seven Heads in west Cork are garnished with confections of sea pinks in full bloom, blankets of yellow kidney vetch and mantles of golden bird’s-foot trefoil.

Where to begin?

A SON-IN-LAW of mine, living in the UK, has recently made a hobby of knapping.

MIRACLE of miracles, lovely weather this first week of our return from the Canarian sun and the sky-blue days of Seville, Leicestershire, and London.

THE skies over Leicester in England during our stay were as blue as the skies over La Gomera in the Canary Islands which we had just left.

I WAS not surprised to read a genetic study of the present day inhabitants of the Canary Islands, revealed that the natives of La Gomera — our second home for over 30 years — retain more of the aboriginal DNA that the inhabitants of the other islands.

THIS morning, in our village, 3km from the sea, on the terraced slopes of the Valle Gran Rey on the island of La Gomera in the Canary Islands, cocks crowded, blackbirds piped, and the fish van passed up the valley leaving skirls of sentimental Canarian music in its wake.

GREEN Gomera! This small Canary Island that, tragically, had 10% of its land mass and 30% of its World Heritage forests devastated by fires only seven months ago is now greener than Ireland.