Hey everybody, it's Larita here. I hope you're keeping well. I just wanted to pop on firstly and

apologise that we had to cancel our final recording, our live recording in the Kingshead in Galway,

which was due to be recorded on the 21st November, we had to cancel it. So apologies to everybody

had plans made to come and see that show. But my dad passed away that day and he had spent

the week previous in the Mayo Hospice being cared for so excellently by the staff there. So thanks

to all of them and apologies to all for missing out on

an afternoon's crack at the king's head and go away but hopefully we'll get you back and see

you in the new year um dad was a mighty man from mayo he celebrated his 90th birthday in in June and we got to have a party for him

and celebrate it with them, which was brilliant and something that we'll be forever grateful for.

He was just a tough, tough farmman man, a man who never really left the farm in Knockmoor in Mayo and lived his life

dedicated to farming and cattle and sheep and growing vegetables and making a living out of just hard,

hard work.

We had great adventures with him growing up.

He showed me how to deliver my first lambs, my first lamb, and then got into it.

And he oversaw most of my delivery work, I have to say.

And we also carried out a couple of postmortems, myself and himself on a couple of cows and a couple of young calves if they died suddenly. Back in the day that you were allowed,

bury your cattle yourself nowadays, it's a different story. He broke his thumb, like on the farm years ago, didn't even realize he'd broken it, like never got it fixed or anything.

But his thumb was permanently stuck inside the palm of his hand and didn't really have any movement in it.

So he had been at a surgeon for something else and the surgeon's system, look at it, I'd fix that thumb if you want, you know, we'll do surgery on it.

So booked them in, did the surgery, put a wire in, fixed the thumb.

And a couple of weeks later, the wire sort of dislodged ever so slightly through the skin.

And dad took a pliers to it, pulled it out himself, at the kitchen table.

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