A Tree with no History!

These past few year has seen many changes in my life, the most recent being selling my house in Bodrum and  moving back to Ireland. This happened in the summer of 2017. I love my new home, though miss my friends and blue skies of Turkey. But you know my penchant for travel so I have been back, to scratch that itch a few times since.

Flying over Istanbul.

Last Christmas was my first Christmas in my own home since I separated from my husband. The previous four years  I had been a visitor, returning to Ireland to celebrate with family and friends. The first two years I didn’t bother with a tree in my Bodrum house. But the Christmas spirit overtook me and three years ago I ordered a good quality six foot artificial tree  that looked like a “genuine fake” as the guys in the local Pazar would say. I had it sent to my poor long suffering brother in Killarney.  He then hauled it out to me on train, buses and  planes. I could tell you that it was blowing a gale when he got to the airport and his flight was cancelled until the next day, but that is his story to tell. Enough to say he got it to me and even assembled it as that was the year I had broken my arm in Vietnam. On returning to Ireland I left the tree behind with a friend.

The much travelled tree in its latest incarnation in my friend's home this year.

While not enjoying the over commercialisation of Christmas I will have to admit enjoying the Christmas music piped through the streets of Wexford when I ventured into town to do my shopping.  I will even admit to singing along. It's easy knowing my youngest wasn’t with me as I would have got a horrified frown and a strong admonition “ Mam, don’t!”

I was looking forward to having a real tree, I had just the place for it in my kitchen which is the heart of my house. It arrived, bringing with it the wonderful smell of fresh pine. Lucky, a four month old kitten, who came to me two weeks ago was even more excited, proving the fact by being the tree's first decoration. One friend suggested tying a ribbon around her neck and declaring the tree decorated. Another friend send a picture suggestion, wrap her in cling film.

Last year's first decoration on the tree

I had some decorations but the tree was big, so I headed for town and spent an obscene amount of money buying new ones. I returned home to start decorating. That's when the sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. My tree was a tree with no history.

There was no plastic Santa in his sleigh being pulled by eight reindeer, faded and worn, with the reindeers' antlers sticking out at very odd angles, a souvenir of our first Christmas when we could afford very little.  But it is  a family Christmas institution.

Where were the Newbridge Silver decorations that we had bought each year for the girls so that when they had their own places, they would not, like us,  have to start decorating from scratch.

The mice in the teacups were missing, as were the glass angels, that I bought one year instead of the silver decorations, the rebel in me. I love colour. And where the beautiful painted decorations from the first Christmas market that we went to in Frankfurt. I remember when I got my first glimpse of the stalls saying I had died and gone to heaven. Thank God at that stage Ryanair wasn't as strict with luggage restrictions.

Nostalgia was washing over me as I thought back to the battered silver angel that sits at the top of the family tree. I had tried to replace her many years ago with a prettier less tattered one and I was firmly told off. It really had not occurred to me until now how much family history was on those trees of past years, until I stood looking at my bare tree in my new home. All of the decorations I had collected over the years had been left behind me. While I may have purchased or been given them, they were no longer mine, they were now the family's, an integral part of their Christmas.

I took out the new decorations along with the few I had brought back with me. Lucky and I battled over the placement of some of them. She reckoned it was her tree. The result, a Santa with only one foot, a new piece of history.

 As I decorated, I placed the straw decorations that my brother had brought out with him when he and Lily from Chile, grappled with getting a 6 ft tree from Killarney to Bodrum on a day that was so windy it grounded their flight

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This bird used to perch on a branch with a smaller one lower down. At the press of a switch, it called over and over again. It was the first birthday present Mr. Man gave me. Even though it was battered and thankfully silenced, I couldn't bear to put it in the rubbish pile when I was leaving Turkey. So I removed the birds and though they are missing feet, they now are happy perching on a real pine tree listening to my Christmas music,

 Next to appear was  a star I was given in Nepal. Stars have a habit of doing that around Christmas time.

There are plastic baubles I bought in Migros along with the coloured lights to supplement the straw decorations the long suffering brother  had given me.

 There is a knitted star, this one didn't magically appear . I made it while in Turkey. There is the sequined bauble given to me last year by daughter No.1 Note the large hole in the side. Lucky's handiwork

There are  painted glass baubles given to me by all four daughters but chosen by daughter No.4 when we went to the Christmas markets in Prague. There is also a glass penguin we bought when we were in Rome to celebrate her 30th birthday.

Then from the bottom of the box emerged a very precious cloth angel wearing a traditional Vietnamese conical hat, a reminder of my friend Kathleen, who was my angel in Vietnam. When I fell and broke my arm quite seriously and split my head open (unfortunately failing to knock any sense into it) she was there by my side to make sure the ambulance was on its way, that I got the best of care, to liaise with the insurance company and my family. When she had to leave and carry on with our trip she left me this angel to watch over me

These carol singers weren sent out to me by my niece. I wonder are they a sign she has forgiven me for serving her lamb köfte, when I didn't know she had foresworn eating those cute gambolling creatures?

Then are the new decorations, one of my favourites is a 1950’s figure of a woman baking, chosen because the kitchen is the heart of my home. I love to cook and to have friends over. There is nothing more satisfying than sitting chatting around a table with friends and sharing a meal that I have cooked .

Did I say my Christmas tree had no history? How wrong I was! It has a different history a more recent one But maybe if I am around in 35 years I will be boring children, grandchildren and great grandchildren with the stories of my Vietnamese angel,  how Santa lost his boot when Lucky came to stay and do you see that woman there in the apron?  That’s me except I was never a 1950's woman. I was independent, and even though I loved to wander, I was never lost. There was always a kitchen table waiting for me to fill at home.

One of my new decorations sums it up.

This year I got slightly carried away and overestimated the width of my tree space. The tree like it's owner is slightly broad in the beam!

This years tree, laden with my story.

Footnote: This piece was written last year but not published. I had no wifi for 10 months.

 Added to the memories this year, Santa in an airplane given to me by the same bruv, to commemorate all my travels in this wonderful year as I celebrated my 60th birthday.  Merry Christmas everyone and may 2019 be a good year for us all.

An Expensive Breakfast!

Tuesdays are usually reserved for gallivanting with Mr. Man. It is his day off and I have not yet managed to persuade him that sightseeing with his "adoptive" mother will not help him catch a young girl. Solo traveller is not in his make up....though to be honest ] I think it has a lot to do with having someone to share the price of the petrol.


I had heard about a small village " Etrim Köyü'   where they make carpets and also serve a village breakfast. I have a kilim that was beginning to fall apart, mainly because of Buster kicking it to death when he is bored and wants to play. It is not an expensive one as it is machine made but I like the colours and pattern. I thought we could visit, maybe  they could repair it for me and we  could have breakfast instead of lunch.

Recently I have gotten used to eating breakfast out. I was in Istanbul last week visiting a friend and two out of three mornings we dined out. I could get used to this. My Mum would be shocked. To her breakfast is an important meal to set you up for the day She was always in despair of me for eating breakfast on the run. She often met me running out the door to work with a slice of toast in my hand.

I  brought my camera with me. Who knows what opportunities awaited. Sure enough as we turned in off the main road and it started to climb, I was telling Mr. Man to stop the car. The view behind was stunning. While he is normally happy enough to stop the car to let me to take  photographs - at least at the beginning of our days out  - it was not the case this morning. It was 10.30 and he had not had his breakfast yet. He was rather grumpy. He was in a hurry to get to our destination because he was hungry. We passed several other breakfast spots, and I got a few pleading looks but I kept  counting down, only 10 more km, 8.......5, hang on we are nearly there.

It was worth the stop.

We arrived at our destination. Luckily, they were still serving breakfast. I might not have been forgiven otherwise, They did repair kilims but they weren't sure if it would be cost effective to repair my machine made one. It might cost more to do so than the kilim itself.  But first things first. Breakfast. Mr. Man was still looking grumpy.

We were the only diners, it was mid week. I wandered a little as we waited.

I really like the middle pot.

I would really like a nice trunk for the end of my bed.

  Breakfast arrived. We were not disappointed. We chose a table beside the woodburner at a table for 4. First to arrive was the tea for Mr. Man and my coffee. He was impressed because there was a whole thermos for him.


As we waited we chatted with the owner, covering a wide range of  topics.  And then the food began to arrive.There were the traditional cheeses, tomatoes, olives, village flat bread. honey, a hot dish of tomatoes and peppers, gozleme, a spinach and cheese filled pancake, cheese rolls, honey, several varieties of jam. There was not a spare inch on the table. Deciding what some of the jams were, was fun. There was even a carrot jam which was absolutely delicious.

Just when I thought I could eat no more we were asked how we wanted our eggs. And received an apology that three or four items from their normal menu were missing.

See Mum, I am eating a proper breakfast.

And all of this for 25₺, about €6 each. Breakfast is definitely growing on me. So you may ask, why did I choose my title for this post.? This was anything but an expensive breakfast What is €6 considering the feast we had just eaten?

 I had made the mistake of telling Engin, the owners son that I loved handcrafts. Therefore we had to go visit the carpets.The only machines used in the making of them here are the two legged kind The wooden looms have been exchanged for metal ones but the ladies still put in months of work as they weave their jeweled threads into magic carpets.The carpets may not fly but just looking at them made my spirits soar.

I knew I was lost as soon as I stepped into the storerooms. Since I first came to Turkey I have wanted to buy a carpet. But I either didn't have a place for one or the money to invest. I was on a trip to Iran recently. Of course we were brought to visit a carpet shop. I had to sit on my hands and keep my eyes on the ground to avoid temptation. After all I have been living in Turkey for a few years now. If I was going to buy I should support home industry.

I told Engin I didn't like the pale colours of the Milas carpets, the ones traditional in our area.   Engin promised he would convert me. He would have his work cut out as I had spotted a carpet, in a Sivas pattern that cried out to me. It was expensive but beautiful. It would be hard to top that. He began to show me some old Milas carpets, I couldn't believe the richness of the colours. I was lost.

Was it the breakfast that had softened me and put me in a mellow mood, had weakened my defences? Was it the excellent salesman who quickly figured what I liked and didn't and rolled out jewel after jewel? Or was it just the right time? time to tick off another item from my bucket list? Maybe it was that the prices were good?  Whatever it was I was hooked. I walked away with two wonderful old vibrant Milas carpets.

This is the first one.

And I mean walked away. I came without carpet money. My only plan starting out that day was to  to have my kilim repaired and to eat breakfast. They took my phone number and said they would call when they were in the area. Engin would be over this side of the peninsula later in the evening but when I told them we were heading for Tuzla lake to see if I could take some photographs of the flamingos they said not to worry they would call in the next day or two. I would look forward to my carpets arriving and in the meantime just visualise in situ. They were wrapped up to be put to one side I thought., No! They insisted  I take them with me now,

This one was definitely made for my sitting room.

We drove away, I sat in amazement. I had two valuable rugs in the car. They had my telephone number, They hadn't even rung it to check I had given them the correct number, They would call to the house in the next day or two and if I wanted the Sivas carpet, I could have that now and pay in installments.  Tempting. After all I have four daughters and the carpets will be part of their inheritance. Maybe I should buy two more!!

Footnote: In the course of our conversation I mentioned we were looking for a wife for Mr. Man. Mr Carpet Maker knows a girl that might be suitable and has offered to do the introductions, While this may have been a more expensive breakfast that planned, will it mean that it is not just me who ticks off an item on their bucket list?  Inşallah.

End of the Journey.

I decided to turn up early for check in.  I was uneasy because I had not been able to do it online.. When I tried  it didn't show the Dublin flight  and the Bodrum flight for Wednesday morning. I was only leaving Dublin on Wednesday morning/

Was it a glitch in the system? Caroline was originally booking me on the Tuesday to arrive Wednesday morning but then we decided to leave it for a day as the Tuesday flight was showing as oversold. I had been given two nights at the hotel so I wasn't mistaken that my flight was on Wednesday,

I collected my contraband from the hotel fridge, packed up and set off for the airport. The check in was just opening and I was one of the first in line. I handed my passport over to a very nice young man, smiling as I said with bated breath "Third time lucky" He didn't bat an eyelid, but then he picked up the phone.

 He was obviously ringing the office, "I have a lady here who says she is booked on this flight but she is not in the system!" He then turned to me and told me, not to worry, to go to the office and they would sort me out. I was not booked on the flight!

I looked at my trolley of luggage. When am I ever going to learn to travel light!  The guy on check in saw my despairing look.  told me I could leave leave the bags to one side, and when I came back, not to queue but to come directly back to him. That sounded hopeful. Maybe I was going to fly after all.

Winnie, who was directly responsible for me going to the Maldives this time last year,( that is a story for another day) arrived just after I did. She told me not to worry. Relived. I said "There are still seats then?" I got a raised eyebrow a smile and told I would be sorted.

It was the end of a very difficult period for them. Leave had been cancelled and some of the staff had worked 12 days straight under tremendous pressure. Again I was reminded how fortunate I am, I  was not in a hurry to be anywhere. Retirement rocks!

To cut this very long story short, I was on the flight, I hadn't taken anyone's seat. There were still a few empty ones on the plane. My flight the next day also took off on time.

 However you know me, there had to be one final moment of excitement.I was sitting in a window seat, just in front of the wing. We had just started our descent when there was a flash and an almighty bang. To say I jumped was an understatement. I looked back, the engine was still there,  There were no signs of smoke. It was a lightning strike but there were no obvious signs of damage.

I was glad to have finally arrived, bags scanned with not a murmur about my "contraband" and Mr. Man was waiting to bring me back to the site. 5 days after I had set out on my journey.

In Dublin's Fair City.

Funny as I am writing the title of this post, I am reminded how random lines of song lyrics often pop into my head. When I was teaching, we had the daily spelling test, Each spelling was put into a sentence, to give context and meaning to the word, More often that not, I put it into a song lyric and sang the sentence. The children thought I was half mad or maybe even completely so.  One girl, more years ago than I care to remember, looked at me and told me I was "stone mad"  My title of cilgin kiz began long before I knew the Turkish term. My student did confess though that she would prefer me to remain stone mad than strive to be normal/


After that digression, I better get back to the story in hand. Once checked in I was looking forward to my brief hotel stay. My twin room was more than comfortable. There was just one major problem. There was no mini bar! Had the events of the past couple of days finally driven me to drink? Perish the thought! It was the bacon and cheese I was concerned about. With no mini bar, how would I keep them fresh? It was just as well I hadn't brought those couple of loaves of cranberry bread I had found in Tescos.

I packed my contraband into a hotel laundry bag and went down to reception. I explained my predicament to the the receptionist. She  offered to see if she could locate a small fridge for me. I replied that wouldn't be necessary if they would store my "laundry" in the hotel's fridge. I had put my room number and name on the bag. Job done.........I could now look forward to my mini break while hoping none of the staff had a craving for goat's cheese.

I arranged to meet my daughter in town for a meal the following evening. I set off in the early afternoon. My goodness it was donkey's years since I had used the city's buses. Everything is automated now and if you don't have a bus card. you need to have the exact change for the fare as there is no change given. I believe you can keep your receipts and when you have enough of them to make it worth your while, go to Dublin Bus and reclaim your overpayment.

After a quick tour of Debenhams, I crossed the Ha'penny Bridge into Temple Bar.

The Ha'penny Bridge, this was a toll bridge which replaced the river ferry. The toll did increase and the bridge was subsequently known as the Penny Ha'penny Bridge.

I was immediately struck by the amount of red buildings... red paint, red brick...  The theme for my photography homework was red. And the setting sun over the bridge was wonderful But of course I had left my camera back at the hotel, safely locked in the room safe.

Thank God for my phone.I am almost never without It.  I fitted right in with all the tourists, except I didn't take a single selfie. I wonder if smart phones had been around when I was younger, would I be a "selfiie taker" Is it just because  of my wrinkled face that I almost never turn the camera around? On reflection, I don't think so. I always used to tell people to get out of my way so I could take the photo and still find myself standing, waiting....not too patiently.....for people to get out of the way of my shot. I love the camera on my Samsung phone. Some of my better photos are taken with it. And it is lovely to look back at the Taj Mahal or the temples of Durbar Square and not have the view spoiled by my face looming in the foreground.

Yet again I have digressed.

With red in mind, I starting looking at the city through my lens.

One of the many pubs in Temple Bar.

Bloom's Hotel has got a Joycean facelift

Bewley's Cafe, a Dublin institutuon had been closed for some time for restoration. It is due to reopen later this year.

Red////jackets signs lights. Photograph is a bit blurred as I didn't have time to stop.

But the Irish rebel in me had to out and I couldn't help adding the photograph below to the set. Fish and chips anyone?

Delayed Again....

Monday morning arrived, I repacked my perishables, said my farewells and boarded the bus for the airport. This bus was not as crowded as the one I  usually take at  05.55, I had the seat all to myself The earlier bus is full of daily commuters. Imagine having to get up that early to go to work. It again made me appreciate how lucky I was. When I was working. I only had to roll out of bed and I could be in work in 10 minutes, if even that. How doubly lucky I am now, not to have to work at all. What time I rise is totally dependent on what I want to do, not what I have to do.

There is wifi on the bus. I found myself continually checking the status of my flight. It was still live. The cancelled flight yesterday had actually flown but had I taken the risk I would now be stuck in Istanbul as the Bodrum leg of my journey was now cancelled. Lucky, lucky me.
Checking my flight status was not enough I began to check the departures board in Istanbul to see if the incoming flight to Dublin had taken off. It was not good news, it hadn't departed yet but it was still not cancelled.

 I arrived at the airport, quickly piled my bags on to a trolley. I had weighed them at home and i was a couple of kilos overweight, If they complained at check in I was all set to moan abut cancelled flights, a cancelled hotel reservation in Istanbul....... Winter clothes take up so much more space, especially my walking boots, not to mention the bacon, cheese and a lot of coffee pods. I can't get decaffeinated coffee for my machine in Turkey and after the previous week's  caffeine overdose, decaff is a necessity not a choice.

I was still following the incoming flight which was now showing a three hour delay, it still  hadn't left Istanbul. It was not looking good. When I got to check in, I was  early but there was a still quite a few, who had also come early. Everyone was discussing the cancellations.  One guy was making his fourth attempt to get to Istanbul. Like me he was following the departure board in  Istanbul.

He had been rescheduled for the third time to fly on Sunday morning but like me had got a message to say the flight was cancelled. He and his wife had been having breakfast in the Carlton hotel, where Turkish Airlines put up their delayed passengers, when he saw the pilot. He spoke to him remarking that they were cancelled once again to which the  pilot replied" No, I am flying" The man mentioned his message but the pilot told him to follow him, he was definitely flying. However, by the time the guy collected his bags, checked out of his room and got to the airport, the flight, though still sitting on the runway, was closed for boarding  and reportedly took off with about 50 people on board. I assume this was because  they had a short window to land in Istanbul.

So, back to Monday's check in. We were waiting with bated breath, but everything seemed to be normal. The staff began roping off their area to create an orderly queue and took their positions at the check in desks.

Ping! My phone. The dreaded email.Your flight has been cancelled! I broke the news to my new friends.  A member of the check in staff was walking by.  I told her I had just got a message to say the flight was cancelled. She replied quite sharply that they hadn't received that information yet. We remained in the queue. 2 minutes later the staff left their seats. It was official. The guy I had been talking to and I headed straight for the lifts...we knew the drill. Get to the office as quickly as possible and rebook.

There, once again I realised how lucky I was. One couple were trying to get to Oman, where a team were waiting for them for work, But her husbands passport, I didn't catch his nationality didn't allow him to transit through certain countries, Another guy had a final exam in Ankara the next day. You might say it was his own fault for leaving it til the last minute but he too had been due to travel on Sunday. Buster was the only one waiting,for me and Mr. Man was taking good care of him.

The Turkish Airlines staff, Caroline in particular were amazing as they worked to reroute as many as possible. How she  knew so many different connection options was impressive. One couple who were on their way to South Africa for three months were rerouted that evening through Addis Ababa.

Me? I was re-booked for the Wednesday afternoon flight, put up in the Carlton Hotel for two nights with vouchers for breakfast, lunch and dinners. Life was telling me to slow down, giving me a chance to rest up between the mad rush of the last week and the resuming of my normal routine back in Bodrum...a mini break, The only pity was there was no spa in the hotel :-) I am joking of course.

Delays

I had a somewhat eventful return journey to Bodrum.  To paraphrase John Denver, my bags were packed and I was ready to leave. But messages were pouring in from friends saying they hoped my flight was not cancelled. Istanbul was experiencing major snow storms.

On Saturday afternoon, I went back to Tomsollagh,  the family home. My daughter was to drop me to the bus at 05.45 the next morning. Holding my breath, I logged on to the Turkish airlines site to check in online. Several flights had been cancelled. But all went to plan. I chose my seat carefully.  If you don't want the pasta dinner you need to sit near the front or the rear. The food service starts there. Usually if you are in row 16 or 17, the chicken or meatballs have run out by the time they get to you. The pasta is the only dinner they serve that is not good, in my opinion.


The messages from friends continued. Should I be worried? They seemed anxious I should leave? I was I quick to reassure them. "No problem, I checked in an hour ago, all is good! When I am ever going to learn?  Complacency is my downfall!  6 pm and the dreaded message arrived, my flight was cancelled.  At least I wasn't stuck in the airport. It was Saturday evening and the Irish sales office was closed, but the message told me I could change my booking online. I tried that, I got a message on the website telling me I needed to ring the sales office.  I tried ringing the customer service number in Istanbul line. After 20 minutes holding I guessed the line was so  jammed there was not a hope of getting through and it would be cheaper to book a new flight than hold the line any longer.

Daughter informed, I decided to leave my suitcases in Tomsollagh  - there was no way I was hauling them back up the stairs to my bedsit -  and return to my "bijou residence.  I placed my contraband back in the fridge -My suitcase was full of cheese and bacon - and went back to Wexford. The internet is better there, I would have a better chance of re-booking my flight. Hard to believe in this day and age, but the internet speed in Tomsollagh often doesn't exceed 0.2m.

I am one of those people who ignores the health warnings not to bring your phones or iPads to the bedroom. And anyway my bedsit is only one room so there is no avoiding They say that even if you are sleeping the ping of a message or email coming through will disturb your sleep even if it doesn't wake you. Well, that night, unlike many others, the pinging woke me.

It started about 1 am.  Ping, ping, ping. Three emails  back to back and messages to my phone. The first a copy of my ticket, the next reminding me to check in an hour before my domestic flight. None of them said the flight was rescheduled and I was flying. What was going on? Were these just automated messages?  Was the flight actually rescheduled? What should I do? If I ignored them maybe the airline wouldn't honour it's promise to reschedule or refund my flight? Wide awake now, I checked with  the Turkish Airlines website again. No, my flight was still cancelled. But I was uneasy. I was definitely not going to get much sleep now. It was 5 am in Turkey, probably not to many people ringing customer service at this hour. I rang them from Skype  to avoid massive phone bills and after only a 5 minute wait I was through.

The person on the end of the line was wonderful. It must be hard to be patient when dealing with hundreds of delayed passengers and especially at that hour of the morning. She checked and told me it looked like the flight was going ahead. I told her again I had got a message to say it was cancelled. She re-checked and said I was right, the flight was cancelled. She proceeded to re-book me for Monday, but again said it looked liked Sunday's flight was going, maybe I should wait to cancel. Go to the airport and if the flight was cancelled, re-book then.

My mind was racing. My daughter had gone to a party and I am sure she had stayed out late, knowing she didn't have to be up before the crack of dawn. I would have to go and wake a household to get my suitcases and then ask someone to drop me to the bus, probably all for nothing. Way too much bother and it would mean I would get no sleep. I decided to re-book for Monday. It would still get me back to Bodrum in time for our photography workshop.

Done and dusted. The booking was made for Monday, the afternoon flight . I thanked the customer services rep and finally settled down to sleep. I could have a lazy Sunday, spend time with my mum and get the bus to the airport at a civilized hour the following morning. It worked out well for me. The only reason I hadn't originally booked this flight was it  had been over a €100 dearer than the Sunday flight  Result!

Wexford at Night.

I belong to the H3A Photography Group in Bodrum. Our "homework" for the last fortnight was Celebrations. I was pleased with the theme. I would be in Ireland where the Christmas madness would be in full swing. No problem coming up with ideas. I had great plans. What followed showed I should never get complacent.


Plan No. 1: The Christmas Dinner

 I had visions of photographs of a wonderful plump turkey, glistening brown, fresh from the oven, the table set for Christmas dinner, the family gathered around. Christmas is always a wonderful celebration for us.

I forgot that when I would take the turkey out of the oven, I would also be dealing with several veg, making gravy and more than a few impatient mouths who did not have time to wait for their dinner while I played around with my camera. That plan was scotched. Not a single photograph!

Plan No 2: The Christmas Tree

I have seen wonderful photos of decorations on Christmas trees with the lights creating wonderful bokeh in the background.  This is something I wanted to try.  It  didn't work out as planned. I blame not having my tripod with me. It was nothing to do with me fiddling desperately with different camera settings, not having a clue what I was doing. Note to myself: Next year research the topic!

This is the one that came closest to what I wanted to achieve/

 Plan 3: Wexford by Night, The Christmas Lights.

I was getting desperate at  this stage. I had little to show for what should have been an easy topic. If only I could show my photos from Kew gardens last year,  We went on Sty Stephen"s night and the gardens were lit up like a Christmas tree...actually better than a Christmas tree. So it was time to put what I had learned about handholding my camera and taking night photographs because there was no way I had been dragging my tripod from Turkey.

Finally I had photographs which I was happy to share with the group, though we always share the good; the bad and the ugly. It is okay sharing the bad and the ugly when I have the good to counterbalance it. Oh vanity!!

I also took a  few taken near the temporary skating rink, Wexford on Ice. Not too many people around to celebrate though!

Funnily enough, it was the fountain I took at Johnstown Castle, which I felt in the end best represented the topic. This was the only one in the set which I didn't intend to represent celebration. I took this photograph experimenting with shutter speed, something I really haven't got to grips with yet. When editing I cropped into the photograph and the end result reminds me of an exploding bottle of champagne.

I wonder is it significant that there is not a single person in my celebration photographs? Even the ferris wheel is empty.