Oystercatchers

On the morning of January 6, two hours before dawn, a man named Robert Clinch rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

I felt like a bit like that opening line this morning before my coffee. It was a beautiful day in Dublin and I went for two walks. The first was about four km and it was a typical early morning in south County Dublin in that it was clear, the time before the cloud blows in. It was also cold, perhaps zero centigrade, the pavement littered with delicate pink, frost-knocked blossoms. Snowdon was clearly visible across the Irish Sea from Killiney Hill, a reminder of Ireland's unearned rugby defeat in Cardiff yesterday. Gus, mindlessly enthusiastic, ran out in front of a car, signalling an overdue return to the leash and home, ending the first walk.

The second walk was about 11 kilometres, roughly the same as the last one on Friday, with lots of steps. I took to collecting photos of postboxes (in progress) and listening in passing to snatches of other walkers' conversations, coincidentally all involved money - the two fast walking 40s something women: 'we'll have to sell the house in Oporto' - the stressed 50's something parents: 'he can't eat our food if he has enough money for wine' - the nervous 20s something son and unflappable father figure: 'really, that should be enough to see it through' - and the 30s something mother to hers, hidden in a pile of coats on the beach: 'you don't have to give them all lobster sandwiches!' as their toddler toddled oblivious in the sand and I wondered if the sense of 'all' was crowd or purity.

Then I got a Facebook post from New York post about food poisoning. It beeped on arrival to my iPhone as I was looking at a group of about ten  oystercatchers walking in front of me (causing ironic linking thoughts about poison and oysters). It took the birds quite some time to decide I was too close. So I photo'd the birds with the phone as they took off, edited the picture as best I could in mid-morning glare on my phone and then uploaded it, hoping to bring cheer to the miserable. All while walking. 

It's time to start acknowledging the writers of the first lines, perhaps making this first revelation easy. Which opening line was from A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka?