Country Living with Francis Farragher
Just as I made another forlorn attempt last week to locate a set of keys, that, for all the world, seemed to have disappeared into thin air, I glanced at a column written by a colleague of mine detailing a number of tips to thwart the arrival of any dreaded dementia.
My only consolation in all of this, is that my experiences with lost items and mislaid goods dates back to my childhood when football boots, togs, shoes, watches and bicycles, all went missing at various times.
With the sixth decade, close at hand, these dementia articles do send a little shiver down my spine, and I have pored over in great detail, the seven tips that can help prevent the onset of a decline that in my younger days was described as someone getting ‘scattered’ or going ‘seafóideach’.
‘Seafóid’ is one of those great Irish words that translates into nonsense and it was often used in the context of someone having too much drink taken and consequently being unable to string a coherent sentence together.
My only consolation over recent years is that I can immediately outline a number of mitigating factors for the temporary disappearance of key items like the mobile, car keys, wallet, at least 20 caps, various pairs of gloves, several torches, nailbars, sledges and a huge array of screwdrivers and spanners.
The regular changing of clothes – that most part-time farmers won’t need any reminding about – slips into the repeat offenders category with long lost bits and pieces turning up in the pocket of a jacket or trousers that had eked out some hiding place for itself.
Probably the most frustrating of all situations is the mobile that can’t be found and you know in your heart that you have it on silent after attending a local funeral or religious ceremony. The smaller the phone or the torch, the greater the likelihood of it doing a disappearing act, so I’ve adopted a policy of being extremely wary of goods that slip into the ‘highly compact’ category.
A variety of transport providers such as a suspicious looking old van, a tractor with a cab of increasing porosity, and a car for the posher runs, is also a key contributor to the daily ‘disappearing acts’ that thwart my life.
For the moment though, that range of alibis is giving me some smites of consolation that I haven’t gone fully ‘seafóid’ just yet, and in last week’s Connacht Tribune, I gleefully ticked off a number of boxes of ‘the right things to do’ to try and keep my brain reasonably agile, at least until I qualify for the free travel.
For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.