Abby has vanished screaming over the Mountains of Mourne or someplace green. And Eamon was last seen following her, bleating.

And I am back in Ireland — at least on paper — because the proofs of Flynn and Sara have arrived to be read over. I’m marking them in green pen. Fortunately, so far, I don’t have a lot of marking done. That means that, so far, the proofs, seem to be in good shape. Cross your fingers. I’d cross mine, but it’s hard to mark proofs that way.

As a special treat, though, because we are back in Ireland, though sans sheep at the moment, I am posting a picture of O’Mally and Friend.

O’Mally, as you may recall, has a significant part in the Irish section of Flynn and Sara’s book. He is Liam’s best friend. O’Mally’s friend here is not Liam. Liam is much older — and has more hair — than O’Mally’s friend.

In the book this friend is called Eamon, but since we have now got a sheep running amok on this blog who is named Eamon, we aren’t going to claim that O’Mally’s friend is Eamon too. (If we did, Abby might throw herself into the Irish Sea)

Anyway, O’Mally’s mom — who also happens to be his friend’s mom which I suppose makes O’Mally’s friend really O’Mally’s brother — sent me this picture last week and said I could share it on the blog, so I am.

Where was this pic was when I was making my collage is what I want to know! Anyway, enjoy. I am.

Parenthetically, I also enjoyed a fantastic concert in Mineral Point, Wisconsin tonight by the Holman-Climax Male Voice Choir from Cornwall.

Mineral Point was, in the mid 19th century for quite a few years, one of the destinations of choice of Cornish miners. Well, this whole area was, but Mineral Point has hung onto its identification with Cornwall more fervently than other places. And they are lucky enough to get concerts like this every now and then.

We went. It was amazing. I will go to bed humming Trelawny. Or, more likely, because it’s a tune I remember my grandmother singing, Camborne Hill.

Thanks, Mineral Point for the opportunity. And many many thanks to the Holman-Climax Male Voice Choir. You guys were fantastic.

Millions and billions and trillions of books.

Oh, no, that was cats, wasn’t it?

But it feels like that many books are suddenly turning up in piles around my house.

Remember the TBR pile that I was so pleased to be making a dent in? Well, I spoke too soon.

I have indeed made a dent in it — but I’ve got scads more books now piled onto it than I had last week. I made the mistake of going to see a friend of mine who reads a lot of romance novels. She isn’t a writer so, presumably, she has time to read. And she heaped a bunch of them into my arms before I left, saying, “You have to read this . . . and this . . . and this.”

So now I have all the J R Ward vampire books to read which, even though I’m not especially interested in vampires (or at all), she says are soooo good and the characterization is sooo good and the dynamic between the characters is sooo good that I’m reading them regardless.

And I have a Naked Earl on my TBR pile — and copies of his friends, The Naked Duke and The Naked Marquis on order. Sally MacKenzie is a fun writer and I’m loving her books.

And then I have a very tall teetering stack of Jo Beverley books to read. I used to read every book of Jo’s as soon as it came out. But then I got distracted by life and contemporaries and I didn’t read any for a while — and believe me, she’s kept right on writing while I’ve been busy. So now I have probably a dozen to read.

And there are Kate Hardy‘s “posh docs” still waiting. And Barbara Hannay‘s book. But I did finish Betina Krahn‘s three — and really am glad I spent the time with hers. And I read Vito — Kate Walker‘s 50th. Vintage Kate!

But this is all going to have to slow down — if not stop — August 1st. Because August 1st I get to grips with Seb and Neely in earnest.

Still, I’m having fun right now!

I know there are people who think that my getting letters from a cat — even such an erudite cat as Sir Sidney St John Willoughby Portly-Lummox, ACOSB, DLitt Oxon, Earl of Blubberhouses, etc etc etc — is a little strange.

But, of course, if you know Sid, you understand. He can’t not write letters. He is consumed by a need to communicate. And, let’s face it, how many people take the time to reply to letters from A Cat? Even That Cat.

They don’t know what they are missing. He writes better than many people I know. And he apparently leads by example if today’s mail is anything to go by.

Someone has noticed.

And now I have received a postcard from a sheep.

Not just any sheep either. This is a sheep called Eamon. An Irish (naturally) sheep called Eamon. A lonely Irish sheep called Eamon. A sheep who can apparently pose for postcards, buy them, write missives, put on stamps and mail them.

He didn’t say much. He’s clearly a Strong Silent Sheep. But he did mention being lonely. I’m sure he’s looking for a nice young Irish lass.

I know just the gal.

She writes for Harlequin Mills & Boon. And Abby Green has a soft spot for Irish fauna (if you can deal with Irish actors, how could you not deal with Irish fauna?).

Abby is always on the lookout for a handsome hero, especially a literate one — which of course Eamon the sheep is because, well, he did send me a postcard, didn’t he?

Not only that, he comes with his own built in cardigan. No need to knit him one.

I’m sure he’s exactly what you’re looking for, Abby. And I have no doubt the feeling is mutual.

My Eamon has a slightly different look –and no cardigan.