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Most evenings when it's bright enough I walk up to the shore
of Dundalk Bay. It's good for clearing the head after a day
sitting in front of a computer. But it was dull, damp and cold
yesterday evening so a quick pic of these stones and shells,
collected on various seaside walks, had to suffice.
They reminded me of my father's favourite tongue twister:
'She sells seashells along the seashore
But the shells that she sells aren't seashore shells.'
As teenagers, however, we preferred to challenge
each other to saying:
'I'm not the pheasant plucker or the pheasant plucker's son
I'm only plucking pheasants til the pheasant plucker comes'!
copyright by Mairead Ni Rodaigh. All rights reserved, usage or copying without permission prohibited
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