Mom, who's a physics teacher, accepts a challenge from her son, who's a soccer player, to move a mini-soccer ball

And good mornin’ to you too. There’s nothin’ for ye…

We’re never gettin’ rid of her now…

The struggle is real ✊

If you end up dead and in a museum WARNING - you will be classified as a MAN or a WOMAN. There’s language. Then there are bodies…

William III died today in 1702 after his horse tripped over a mole hill. The horse, Sorrell, pictured, had been confiscated from Sir John Fenwick who had been executed in 1697 for plotting to assassinate William. (Courtesy of Portaferry Time Travel!)

Would make more sense if she was doing it to herself…

A name carved in stone found in Strangford today. Joseph Brick…

Sometimes you don’t make progress till you figure out you’ve no idea what you’re doing and it happens without you.

Time to write to our politicians - WHO pushing through a #PandemicTreaty that takes away our right to choose treatments (experimental or otherwise) in any future pandemic. This is undemocratic - what of citizens’ & nations’ right to choose? youtu.be/PQ86dgzduVU?si…

I can’t even read my own handwriting. I make myself so hard to understand.

The landmarks have not perished with our hopes; The hills remain; the constellations turn; The raking sun-shafts on the western slopes Show hidden contours we have yet to learn; And, grateful, we stand ready to obey The brave compulsions of the shortened day.

“The fairy tale discusses what a sane man will do in a mad world. The sober realistic novel of today discusses what an essential lunatic will do in a dull world”. Chesterton. You genius 😂

People who turn up late and jump the queue you’ve been standing in for half an hour 😡

New episode! open.spotify.com/episode/2AVJPi…

Interesting read. Still No 1 on Amazon Ireland list of best selling books.

We live in a neo-puritan society. Who thought when the oppressed were freed they would not become the oppressors? It is ever so…

In Ireland here it is a different matter: The past persists in every knuckle and sinew, Drips from the eaves to run its lithe ivy over The white shavings on the floor; The future can find no crevice to enter by And cannot be heard at the door.