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Tag Archives: Sligo
Pictures and Poems : The Lake Isle of Innisfree
Lake Isle of Innisfree, Sligo, W.B. Yeats
The Lake Isle of Innisfree by W.B.Yeats
The poem is about a going back to something simpler, something purer, something more spiritually uplifting, something freeing, liberating. Three simple quatrains containing as much as I think it is possible to put into twelve simple lines of verse without losing the ease of expression. It's like sitting by the side of the lake and seeing. At first just the water, the trees, the skies and eventually an entire landscape in all its fascinating detail. It's a nature poem first and foremost but in this each element contains its opposite. The longing for simplicity betrays social complexity; the yearning for the natural reveals a man-made present and the hope for spiritual renewal unearths the worms of unease. Here we have in miniature Ireland's response to Thereau's Walden. The desire to leave behind the urban sprawl (pavements grey), industrialisation and technological phenomenon of the modern world and to live in a hut. To provide for oneself through nature's bounty supplemented by careful husbandry. The call of the pure is similar to that felt by the English Romantic poets a century before. That truth and beauty can be discovered through a return to nature. But what truth? What beauty?
In the first verse is the gratification of physical needs. That a simple wattle shelter to rest in and a garden with bean rows and bee hives is enough. It's a rural idyl, a dream shared by many of us. In the second verse is the need for the spiritual renewal of the natural world. Like Walden Pond, the Lake Isle exists. It's an uninhabited island in Lough Gill, County Sligo where Yeats spent many hours as a child. This return to the innocence of childhood in search of truth and spiritual renewal again links it with the likes of Wordsworth and Coleridge. It find echoes through the twentieth century in the likes of Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye) in his field dream stopping children from falling from the purity of innocence into the corruption that lies beyond puberty, in Joni Mitchell's Woodstock where half a million are going "to camp out on the land and set (their) souls free" Whether Yeats would find peace and truth among vast crowds tuning in and dropping out is a moot point; but there is a political link. Here is a country which for centuries has been under the oppressive yoke of Great Britain finding an appetite to resist, to assert its independence and its sense of its own identity. Ireland had been looked down upon by its supposed colonial masters. The west of Ireland was a land of poverty, famine and despair. And yet it is to here that the poet wishes to escape to find fulfilment and to discover who he really is. The poet asserts that far from its portrayal, Sligo and the West is a place from which to build a nation. The poem is political. The first three words are the language of revolution and Yeats wants nothing less. "I will arise". Here is what we are fighting for and where I go I'd like you to follow. Yeats is creating a new vision of Ireland wrought out of its rich tradition of story and song.
The yearning for freedom and the sense of liberation in the poem still draws. I've always been a revolutionary in spirit; though often a lazy one. Yeats' verses drew me to Ireland by the old ways; I went on a bicycle and I went slowly. Not for me the modern day trappings of the velocipede: the stretch knickers and go faster logos and head-down-arse-up carbon fibre sleekness. My bicycle was a quarter century old and creaked and groaned. It spent as long resting on its side as I sketched on some grassy hummock or fumbled with words in a notebook or took the occasional photograph. I only had a cheap camera and feared the memory card would fill up if I took too many (it never crossed my mind that I could buy a new card). I was drawn to Sligo and when I got there I slowed down still further. I had a copy of Selected poems in my bag and I found a different vantage point to read each one. Seldom has poetry gained more meaning for the hungry student than in those Sligo days.
The area is dominated by the most astonishing mountain I think I've seen. Benbulbin might not be the highest but it matches most for history and legend and its shadow is the chosen resting place for the poet.
Under bare Ben Bulben's head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!
I pedalled slowly, stopping often and feeding on the views, the skies, the sounds, the mountains, the sea, Yeats' grave. Lough Gill was busy with coach loads from Surrey when I got there. It didn't matter much. It's only one lake among hundreds out in the west. I went in search of an understanding and think I got something of it. I found a quiet place to brew tea and recite a poem I'd learnt by heart years earlier but had never learnt so well.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a-glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Afterthought: The simplicity of the poem's music is deceptive. Many people have set the words to music but I'm yet to hear a version that catches the true rhythms of the piece.
Day 143: Simon the Navigator
Posted by simon682 in A Cyclist on the Celtic Fringe, Uncategorized
bicycle tour, Budenell Social Club, Ireland, Leitrim, sat navs, Sligo
A Cycle on the Celtic Fringe … Part 44
You can get sat navs for bicycles. I've never much seen the point of them for cars but each to their own. I was once driven to a concert in Leeds by someone who was over proud of their digital navigation device. Granted, I was impressed by him swinging up a few roads I never would have taken and parking on a piece of no-man's land that the device announced as our destination. Credit where credit is due, we were right outside the Budenell Social Club in good time to listen to Sam Baker sing some of his excellent songs. I have nothing but respect for this. What I question is whether we had to have the bloody thing on from junction 26 of the M1 in order to find an enormous city at the top end of the same road.
I'm not much for the music of artificial voices whether it is a satellite system, Professor Stephen Hawking or Ken Bruce. I don't listen to radio two in the morning because I find it inane and repetitive. Being told to continue straight on every thirty seconds for the best part of an hour was much the same experience. I suppose, like mobile phones, they are old hat now and don't have to be used by borderline inadequates to bolster their perceived social status.
I rather like getting lost. My chest infection meant that I had to give more than usual consideration to the destination, but the natural shape created by me and a bicycle is a meander. I'd come to see Ireland, not get a glance at the view from the side of a big road. But I found myself on a big road anyway. The N4. In England this would be a terrible mistake. In Ireland it works out rather pleasantly. There is a wide section on the kerbside of smooth carriageway for the sole use of the cyclist. I don't think that was the intention, but it was the result. The line painters had given me my own private motorway. Smooth and free from danger. The road itself carried only about a fifth of the traffic you would get in the west of England; be it Devon, Gloucestershire or Cumbria. The views were magnificent, with mountains rising on either side of the road. It was uphill, sure, but only uphill enough to give strong legs a proper warming up.
I was with the conundrum of having a chest infection that would make singing impossible and even a brisk walk unlikely, and yet I was still a strong cyclist, eating miles that two weeks earlier I had been struggling with. My legs looked like a professional cyclist's legs. They had become shapely, strong and muscular in the first week and then, over the next week they simply became strong, thin and elegant.
The mystery of recent Tour de Frances was being answered. In the eighties and nineties you had to have legs like a rhino to get up the mountains, and now, we have riders like Bradley Wiggins and the Schleck brothers who were climbing cols with legs like pipe cleaners. I'd suspected something in the supplements, but here was I, fuelled with black pudding, bacon and a fried slice, carving up hills I couldn't have managed at snail's pace with bigger calves. And I was flying up these hills without the engine of my lungs.
There is no great mystery about the illness. I had a lung infection. Back home I was put on strong antibiotics and several courses of steroids. The cure took a long time. My doctor, cognisant of the fact I'd been a long term smoker until a few years ago, and aware of the schlocking I'd given my vascular system, said they were knackered and would take some time to recover. The mystery is partly solved by the levels of fitness I had reached before infection set in. The lungs may have only been working partially but they were working very efficiently. There was an awful lot more oxygen circulating than I had any right to expect.
Cycling is an amazing exercise. I couldn't have jogged a mile yet I could cycle for eight or ten hours a day so long as I kept in the mid range.
The uphill lasted ten miles. I've always found that once I've done ten miles the rest of the day is relatively easy. Anything over ten miles is perfectly respectable so you can stop where you want to and say, "Well, I've done thirteen miles. That's enough for today." You find when you are cycling that you can very easily become addicted to covering distance. Not is a maniacal way, but you get the groove. The same thing happens when you strike up the guitars with the right company. You may only have intended to sing a couple of songs but you're still belting out favourites two and three hours later.
At the ten mile reach there is a big petrol station with a Mace mini mart attached. There's a toilet, and they serve coffee. It was two hours since I finished breakfast; another Full Irish; and I was ready to celebrate the top of the climb. The view of the mountains had gone but a packet of Maryland Cookies seemed the order of the day. It is also on the corner of the little road I'd been looking for since I left Sligo. I had miles of rolling Irish countryside and a gentler road all the way to Carrick-on-Shannon. If I'd had a sat nav I could have saved myself five or six miles. I tend to think of it as gaining some miles I would otherwise have missed.
I put this to a man I met later in Roscommon and he said it was a glass half empty thing. I agreed with him because he was an amiable fellow and he was sure he was right. It's not about an outlook on life, it's about how you consider the journey. Is it the journey itself or is that just a means to the destination. I ride as I try to live. Enjoying the moment, the freedom and chosen-ness of it. The passing view, the people that you meet. I try not to repeat things and that is perhaps the main reason I felt I'd drunk enough from the bottle and the barrel. There really aren't that many ways of being drunk. Cigarettes went because I finally wanted to be a non-smoker more than I wanted to be a smoker. I wanted the sensation of having clean lungs and gulping down litres of air. I'll probably never experience that feeling. The legacy of my previous smoking is too strong. I was gulping down enough to keep me going.
Suddenly I'm the only sound I can hear. Cows chew cud lazily in the same fields as sheep. I see my first hay stacks since the sixties. Swallows dance in the skies, the sun comes out and the world feels just about the way I want it to feel. There is a feel of the timelessness I had sought. You can find it in parts of England. I found it in Upper Wharfedale and the higher reaches of the Eden. I've encountered it in parts of rural Kent and Dorset. You find it in France and Northern Spain. This is why we walk and cycle and head to be renewed in the countryside.. Hardly a car passes. There is no rush on the pedals. The warm air and the smells of summer waft me across county borders; Sligo then Roscommon, then Leitrim, then Roscommon, then Leitrim again. I am almost completely happy.
Day 142: At the Evening of the Day
blueberries, Heston Blumenthal, Ireland, Sligo, traditional irish music, Yeats
There was a quietness in the evening. The buildings and thoroughfares announced a substantial city. The population suggested a big and contented village. This wasn't a gastronomic tour but if it had been I wouldn't have suffered through lack of choice. I'd been told about the quality of the seafood out in the west. Here there seemed to be good food, of every kind, around every corner.
Most of my days began with enough food for the day in the form of a lavish breakfast. After that it was merely a matter of topping up. I'd taken a strong liking to cheese, to oatcake biscuits and to apples. The combination satisfied taste and texture and sat lightly on an overworked stomach. I didn't mind working my gut, on overtime, to digest yet another monstrous fry, so long as it had the rest of the day to recover. Once I'd stopped exercising I wanted to lightly and safely graze.
Hotels were going to stretch my budget; restaurants would have taken it to pieces. And, anyway, I don't much care for solo dining. There is something wasteful in not being able to share the experience of good food. I imagine Heston Blumenthal makes himself a decent snack but I doubt he prepares and serves himself full dinners.
By eight o'clock I'm enjoying an alfresco supper by the banks of the river. In addition to my usual oatcakes,and cheese, I've picked up a punnet of blueberries. They've had quite a press as a super fruit. I'm not expecting wondrous things from them. I bought them because they were going cheap. As usual, I am slightly disappointed. They promise to be everything a bilberry is except bigger. They may be full of all sorts of goodness, but I'd choose bilberries any day.
Several swans, some swallows and a pair of yellow wagtails provide the floorshow. The gentle flow of the river provides the drone to the traditional music crossing the water from a pub on the other bank. The last time I was in Ireland I followed the mandolins and fiddles all over the County Clare and drowned myself in the black stuff. This time I was happy to spend an hour listening. The players were good and were playing for the benefit of each other, it being a little early for the crowd.
I dropped a berry in the stream to catch a little silver trout. There were fish rising. Further up stream fishermen settled in the gathering dusk. This was the middle of a major city. It didn't feel a bit like England. It had a special magic brought about by a different pace and a different set of values. Not slower and more mellow, this isn't an over-romanticed idea of Ireland, but, perhaps a little more in tune with the world around.
Darkness descended and I sat on. No one was in any hurry. No-one was disturbing the darkening streets. I could make out the great and little bear as I made my slow and contented way back to the hotel.
A mug of hot chocolate and a few more chapters of Inishowen sent me to sleep. The day hadn't been without incident. Had given me ample opportunity to practice getting in a bit of a tizzy and then realise the futility of it. I've had a fine old day. I've crossed my first border, visited the oldest town on the island, traced the roots of Rory Gallagher and William Allingham. Traced the journey of The Spanish Armada, uncovered stories of great brutality and hatred. I'd visited the grave of one of the truly great poets of the twentieth century and almost doubled my reading of him. I'd spent time among the good people of Sligo and got a tourist's feel for a very fine city. I'd been filled with frustration as things went wrong and filled with admiration and gratitude when un-looked for acts of kindness set me straight and on my way again. I had experienced a fall of evening as peaceful and lyrical as any I can remember and I fell asleep a tired and happy man.
I had a ream of notes ready for the man in the post office. It was the first time I'd got to post my morning letter into a green post box. I queued politely behind two others and a helpful man allowed generously for my unfamiliarity with polite and helpful post office staff. I was thrown. There were four people working behind the counter and not one of them had a "position closed" sign up. I was definitely not in England.
He sold me an envelope and a stamp for 27 cents. It didn't seem enough. The post box had E:R on it. (Edward VII). It really wasn't all that long ago that Ireland had been a part of Great Britain. The idea seemed preposterous.
My only problem was that I was not well. I had to get myself within reach of places I could abandon the tour if I had to. I was going to keep going as long as I could but recognised that what was wrong with my chest was a matter for a doctor and not a pharmacist. I was way out in the north west of Ireland. This isn't a great country for trains. As far as I could see I had four basic options if I were to fulfil my ambition to cycle from my front door, round the British Isles and back to my front door. And those options were ferry ports; Larne, Dublin, Rosslaire and Cork. Cork was always my intention but it seemed an awful long way off.
I'd been abandoning all sorts of things along the way. It was in Sligo that I, with great reluctance, abandoned plans to keep to the west, to visit Mayo and Connemara, to ride through Galway and visit old friends in Clare. It was a tough decision. I cannot regret it. I returned home in a bad way. I was laid up at home for weeks. I found climbing stairs almost beyond me and wasn't able to ride my bicycle for months. If I'd headed out west I don't think I would have got home under my own power. The west will be there for another tour.
I took a final walk around the city of the shells and, passing Halfords, I found a quiet road that took me into Leitrim.
Day 141: Sligo … Freewheeling
Anthony Easthope, Bicycle, Halfords, Inishowen, Joseph O'Connor, Roddy Doyle, Sligo
The first man in Halfords doesn't see much of a problem. The second man knows his bicycles and sees the problem straight away.
"Jeez, you need to be Samson to get that wheel on."
He looks at me quizzically. "You mean to say, you got that wheel on on your own?…Twice?" He pauses and re-appraises the slightly wheezy fifty something standing before him. "Sure, I'll not be picking any fight with yourself."
There would have been no contest. I may have been an inch taller but he was of an altogether stronger build. Amiable and skilful with a knowledge of bicycles that was gained following his father into the family shop before places like Halfords undermined them all and put them out of business.
His first reaction is the same as mine. To want to lay the fault at the people who had put me back on the road in Omagh. He rings them up. "Can I speak to the lads in bike hut…yesterday…new wheel." He nods sagely as my hero of yesterday gives his side of the story. I wasn't looking for blame. Really, there wasn't any blame to be given out. The explanation on the other end of the phone continued a goodly while, and as it did, the firm set features of the Sligo man began to relax and were replaced with a well practiced smile. "So what you're telling me is that that was the only wheel you had and you put it on so as to get him out of the clarts and on his way again. Sure enough…we'll sort it. Thank you for your time."
The Omagh boys had been the outriders. I was now under the protection of the real cavalry. The problems that had beset the bicycle from day one were about to be fully addressed. This was the fifth mechanic to have a look, and this fellow knew his biscuits.
In goes a new axel. It needs cutting down to size. No fancy tools here, just someone who can respect the thousandths on a tape measure and use a hack saw with control. The operation gets repeated on the other side. All the time he is friendly and charming and demonstrating a highly developed sense of humour. If you are looking for genuine craic, look no further. Witty, original and amiable. The work takes two hours and he never shows the slightest impatience with it. He adds a new quick release and checks his work and checks it again. It's only fifty miles from Omagh to Sligo. It's a good deal further to the next branch and he isn't going to have me stuck in a ditch. What I see is simple. A skilled and determined man giving the sort of dedicated service that I wish we had in all shops. The bicycle has done over 8,000 miles since he repaired it and the wheel has not caused a single problem since.. It is one of the real pleasures in life to see someone who really knows how to do their job.
He insists I try it out around the car park. He watches me in exactly the same way as my father watched me make my first stabiliser free pedals in 1964. He appears to exhude the same element of pride in a job well done. He doesn't charge me a penny. Merely shakes me by the hand and wishes me good luck with the rest of my journey.
It had been a bit frustrating, yes. But that was all. Some people had helped me in Omagh when I was on the verge of giving up. Their help needed a little adjustment in Sligo and that gave me the opportunity to meet one of the kindest and most skilful men in the west. Problems, indeed, can be seen as opportunities once we have had a good old swear.
The road back into town was fair and wide. The same road two hours earlier had been long and ugly. I went past the racetrack and thought that a day at the Irish races would be a day worth having. I'd missed a meeting the week before. Maybe they'd have racing at Galway. And, once again my mind is drawn and torn between making sure I get home healthy and still in credit, and seeing all the things I wanted to see.
All Irish petrol stations have a supermarket attached. This one had a Mace which used to have branches in the UK. I buy milk and cheese and yet more of the oatcake biscuits that were becoming a private passion when eaten with apples. In town everything is closing. A chemist stays open long enough for me to grab some bubble bath and the bookshop closes its doors for the night after selling me a copy of Inishowen.
I'd had my share of frustrations in the day but they were all forgotten as I listen to the bells of Sligo ring out six chimes while I slide under a thick blanket of bubbles in a restoring bath. I'd chosen the Joseph O'Connor book because his novel, Star of the Sea, had told the story of the famine so well. This novel tells of an altogether different Ireland but I seem to have hit gold in deciding to explore the country by bicycle in the daytime and through literature at night.
Anthony Easthope enjoyed the Irish element among us students in Manchester. He told us that making a list of all the great comic writers in the canon of English literature is to conclude that they were all Irish. It was a passing whimsey at the time, one of his few comments not designed to be controversial. (I liked him for his willingness to upset. Not everybody did. We had plenty of lecturers who never upset anyone, but I can't remember if I learnt anything much from them). Easthope listed Swift, Congreve, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Shaw, Wilde and Joyce. He could easily have continued with Beckett and Behan, Stoker, Cary and O'Faolain. We could drift beyond writers who made you laugh while pointing out something bigger and include William Trevor, Frank McCourt, Mary Lavin, Seamus Heaney, CS Lewis, Louis MacNeice, Laurence Stern and Robert Tressell. We could have contemporary writers like Roddy Doyle, Dermot Bolger, Colm Tóibín, John Boyne and John Banville.
It was a remark made in whimsey but it was a remark that planted a seed. When he said it I may have read three or four of these writers. Almost as a direct result of this off the cuffness, I have gone on to read all of the others and many more. A veritable horn of plenty. Anthony Easthope died before he should have done and before he'd been able to mix it with the big hitters. He would have given them some time on the ropes and they would have been all the better for the tussle.
For now, my muscles were relaxing and I was letting Joseph O'Connor take me down some delightful wrong turnings. The summer evening stretched out before me and I still had the real Sligo to discover.
* Anthony Easthope lectured in English and Lingusitics at Manchester Polytechnic in the 80s.
** The photograph of the Dawes bicycle is what my bicycle thought it looked like after being repaired.
Day 140: Sligo … Pedalling Uphill
Halfords, Rick Stein, Sligo
There is always an extra pleasure in cycling into a port city. The nature of a port city means that the final bit of the journey is inevitably down hill. It's a good long descent into Sligo. A pretty descent. This is a decent descent into a decent city. I'd looked forward to getting to Sligo and the city didn't disappoint me. My bicycle did. It did it in stages and the expression "going from bad to worse" was being demonstrated.
Leaning it up against a bridge, over a proper river, went well enough. As usual I was trying to remain anonymous but the laden beast is attracting attention. A large American family; two parents, one child; decide to take photographs of each other with it in the background. (The novelty value of someone actually providing his own motive power obviously appealed to them). I nip across to a bank machine where I await my first Euros. I ask for 100 and get them in two notes. It doesn't seem enough. Her majesty appears on a £50 note in the UK but they are so easy to forge that no-one accepts them. 100 as five twenties feels much more substantial. Still, the machine worked. I've got money.
The Americans have gone and been replaced by two men in jeans. I presume they know each other. They don't. They've both been attracted by the bicycle made of steel. One is Irish and one is an Aussie. They are fellow cyclists and recognise a proper set of forks when they see them. They admire everything about the bicycle and then both point out the flat tyre.
How does that happen? I'd cycled forty miles over flints and roadstones; across a sandbank, through a dead poet's graveyard and down several death defying hills. Yet, leave it to stand for five minutes and the back wheel is flat. Always the bloody back wheel! The one you have to fiddle with the gears and remember which side to put the spacer.
My new friends disappear pretty quickly, when they see work to be done, and I wheel the bicycle somewhere a little less in the way of pedestrians, to set about fixing the wheel. I've found a picturesque section of river and this provides a delightful contrast to the under-stated tirade of invective I address to a wheel that stubbornly refuses to become detached from the bicycle. So much for the quick release…
I do manage in the end and replace the tube with one from a dodgy batch. I know straight away it isn't going to work, but it's my last tube. It simply won't inflate the section of tyre around the valve. It may do for now, but I'm going to need a bike shop.
Then came the dispiriting part; getting the wheel back onto the bike. The whole wheel, including the axel, is half an inch wider than it used to be. It used to be a snug fit. Now it is a snug fit on a bike with forks half an inch further apart than on my bicycle. This may not sound much but the forks are made of 500 Reynolds steel, which is designed and built to be very light and very strong and particularly good and not giving in to being pulled by a mere human. You need to be Cactus Jack or have a hydraulic jack to spread the forks. If you use both hands (there is no other way) to try to spread the forks, you only have your teeth left to put the wheel in with.
I have no idea how I managed it. But I did. I've drawn a crowd of work watchers, crunched my fingers into a good impression of those belonging to Keith Richards , and coated myself with grease and oil. I'm also bursting for a pee.
I prop it up outside a hotel and contemplate booking in if only to have a wash. I need to get the machine back to Halfords though. My current problems are frustrating in a city. Out in the middle of nowhere they could spell disaster.
It is at that moment when my pain gets worse. The tyre simply explodes. A big pop. Enough to turn heads all along the street. And a hiss and the tyre is pancake flat again. I'm down to my last tube and am sure I cannot repeat the wheel changing exercise. I use some words that could be described as being of a coarse nature. In grammatical terms, they are often referred to as interjections. They can also be called expletives.
I use a great many of them.
The owner of a coffee bar comes out to see what event of interest is taking place outside his arabica scented world. He looks like a cross between Oz Clarke and Rick Stein. He sees a badly dressed cyclist making some sort of appeal to him which involves crossed legs and waving black and white minstrel hands at him. He's cleverer than Oz or Rick and points me in the direction of a mall with some toilets well hidden half way down. This is the turning point of my day. Things don't suddenly start going right from here but they do stop getting worse.
I never would have found the toilets on my own. I emerge ten minutes later much relieved and with hands showing a few clean patches. Rick pours me a very good cup of coffee and I sit at his outside table. He tells me where to go to book a good deal on a hotel room. "Sure, there'll be all sorts of offers on hotels. There's nothing on in town this week." He also tells me that there is an independent bike shop just around the corner. I finish my coffee and pay them a visit.
It's yet another of the boutique type shops where a huge amount of attention has been given to the colour scheme but there is no-one to help. I ask if they have any wheels that will fit. They offer to sell me a new bike. I'm in the wrong shop.
To be fair they give me some discount on the three tubes I do buy but when I ask if they might have a drop of oil for the poor wheel they offer to sell me a huge can of aerosol oil. At least that's how I think they pronounced it. "If you leave it with us, we could have it fixed by the weekend."
I look at the statue of famine victims across the hard and realise my problems are surmountable and some problems aren't.
I don't know how I managed to get the wheel off and back on again, but I do. I fear my guitar playing days are over. The fingers hurt just holding onto the handlebars.
I go back to see Rick who points out that the tourist office is half way up the hill to Halfords. The man in the office is polite and efficient. There are no great bargains, but I'm pleased to be booked into the hotel the bike exploded outside for 55 Euros.
Finding Halfords is easy in a car. It is on the last roundabout before you head out onto the bypass in every town in Britain. They are not so easy to find on a bicycle. The clock is ticking.
Day 138: Shipwrecked on the Strand
Shipwrecks, Sligo, Spanish Armada, Streedagh, Yeats' Grave
A Cycle on the Celtic Fringe …Part 40
The worst part of this stretch of the journey is having to keep to the main N15 road. At times it supplies a cycle track but, as is the case when these run by the side of main roads, it is a mess of flints and roadstones catapulted to the side by speeding vehicles. At other times the cyclist is left to mix it with the big boys. There are no winners. The bicycle is a nuisance to people in a hurry and the thundering pantechnicons are a danger to the life and health of the cyclist.
The two choices are to put your head down and cover the distance as quickly as possible or to make frequent stops and explore the side routes.
At Grange I've had enough of lorries and the bigger cars. It is only the bigger cars that get annoyed with the slow moving. I see a sign saying something about The Spanish Armada and follow the lanes down to some perfect beaches. This is the Strand at Streedagh. On this cloudy, breezy day it is almost deserted. Four hundred and twenty years earlier it had been the place of shipwreck, carnage, slaughter and remarkable survival.
In 1588 Philip II of Spain sent an invincible fleet to defeat the English. Bad seamanship, hubris, clever English tactics and appalling weather meant that more than fifty of these vessels never returned to Spain. The enterprise was one of the most glorious of the great PR reign of Elizabeth the First and an unmitigated disaster for the Spanish. After avoiding battle with the English off Plymouth (where Drake was famously going to finish his game of bowls), and failing to gain anchorage in the Solent, the Armada took refuge off Callais where they were scattered by a fire ship attack. A sea battle ensued; The Battle of Gravelines; where Spanish support from the Low Countries was prevented by the Dutch, and the Armada put to flight. The channel retreat was cut off so escape back to Spain was only possible by going through the North Sea and around the north of Scotland and Ireland.
Storms and wrecks dotted their path. The full story is obscure but much folk history has been passed down. The Fair Isle jumper is generally regarded as being of a Spanish design and is probably a relic of survivors of the enterprise settling in the northern isle.
What is known is that while sailing north up the east coast of England, the captain of a small Spanish ship; the San Pedro, broke formation. The captain, Francisco de Cuèllar, was about to find that failing in all the Armada's intentions were just the beginning of his woes. He was sentenced to death by hanging and kept on board the galleon, San Juan de Sicilia, until the execution should be carried out.
The ship was one of three galleons that anchored off the Sligo coast when raging storms blew them all onto the strand at Streedagh. Over 1000 sailors perished in the storm and survivors were beaten and robbed by locals who had been warned of reprisals if they gave shelter to any Spanish sailors, or they were brutally butchered by English soldiers. In all 1500 men lost their lives on these beaches that night.
De Cuèllar had clung to a hatch and made landfall un-noticed and remained hidden while his fellow countrymen were killed and their bodies looted. At one stage he was discovered by armed men, but instead of making him another victim, they covered him over with reeds and left him concealed. Why they did this remains a mystery. From his hiding place he watched a troop of 200 soldiers wreak havoc.
When he eventually crawled out there were over 800 corpses scattered across the strand, left to be eaten by dogs and crows. It was like a scene from Sophocles. De Cuèllar made his way inland witnessing the bodies of his fellow countrymen strung up in nooses from the walls of churches. A local woman herding cattle warned him to avoid the roads and he made his way across country to Bréifne Ua Ruairc or O'Rourke's Country, which more or less occupied the land now known as County Leitrim. His way wasn't straight forward and he was attacked at least twice, was relieved of his belongings and most of his clothing as well as receiving a knife wound to the leg.
A boy treated the wound with a poultice and a young woman returned his stolen clothing. This merely allowed him to be attacked a little further inland and be robbed once again of his clothing.
Surviving on berries and watercress he found some sanctuary and more that 70 fellow survivors of the shipwreck. He observed that the people lived in a near savage manner but were followers of the same Catholic religion as the Spaniard. Without the rough hospitality of the Leitrim people he wouldn't have survived.
The English army arrived in search of these survivors, several failed attempts were made to get him aboard vessels. Eventually he was secreted to The Hebrides and after several months off the west coast of Scotland was put on a ship to join his countrymen fighting in Holland.
Nothing was going to be easy for Francisco de Cuèllar and his ship was attacked and wrecked. He was flung into the sea and survived by clinging to yet another hatch. He was washed ashore on a beach in Flanders and entered the city of Dunkirk wearing only a shirt. Things went a little better for him after that. As far as we know he never lost another pair of trousers.
I found out the first part of this story on the beach at Grange, have used Wiki and other Sligo websites to flesh out the tale. What I heard and read was at complete variance to what I saw around me. A magnificent stretch of beach. A local population who again and again had made my problems their concerns. Two things were obvious. This part of the country had a history far darker than its present. And, it was a lot better to be a visitor from foreign parts in 2011 than in 1588.
From the main road the views varied. At times gloriously looking out towards the mountains and highlands of Mayo. The ever present great and imposing shape of BenBulben on my left. At times, looking over rather grim caravan parks that smacked of what English retirées have done to the north Wales coast. At times the juddering ugliness of cycling as best you can along a road built for lorries.
I was happy to make my pilgrimage stop at Yeats' Grave. Tourist signs highlighted Yeats' Country and boat trips to lake isles. I would have liked to divert in all of these directions but my breathing was heavy ad the sweat on my brow had the oily feel of illness as well as the salty taste of being tired. I was bound for Sligo and another threat to the whole of my journey. There is always a positive; just ask Francisco de Cuèllar; and the positive was that I was going to have to spend longer in this city than I had planned to do. A whole day longer. It is a fine city to gain an extra day.
Day 137: God's laughing in Heaven
Ballyshannon, Fender Stratocaster, Rory Gallagher, Sligo, W.B. Yeats
It's August the second. I get to hold my first Euros, get my first feeling for the north west of Ireland, visit Ballyshannon and Sligo, suffer yet another disaster and need help. I speak to hardly anyone but don't lack for company. The geography is magical and I get to meet two fellas on the way by the names of Gallagher and Yeats. We've met before in passing but today I get to know them both a proper deal better and I come away wanting to become friends.
Cycling is a time when your mind goes on its own spirals. I was heading towards Ballyshannon, birthplace of Rory Gallagher, and my mind was galloping back to when the name first began to mean something to me. 1973 was a year of change for those of us who were young. Our hair was growing longer and our admiration of glamour was changing from Bolan to Bowie and our admiration for sideboards was changing from Noddy to Rory. We were also coming under the spell of a late night comedy programme called Monty Python's Flying Circus. It was also about this time that I heard a version of Down by the Salley Gardens and fell for the lyrical beauty of Yeats.
There was plenty I encountered and fell in love with, that has lost its first flush. Lindisfarne now sound homely and local, but sounded universal back then. I was half in love with Julie Felix and felt myself more than half in love with a girl in my class who knew cleverer things than I did. I probably did well not to tell her of my feelings. She had more words to decline my affections than I had to promote them.
Some of the cleverer boys were becoming unhealthily attracted to what intelligent interlopers were doing to pop music; making it clever…it was already far cleverer than progressive rock would make it but they didn't seem to understand this. I wasn't in any way drawn to Jethro Tull or King Crimson or Genesis. I was thirteen years old and already looking back with longing to the golden age that had happened when I was between five and eleven. I was developing a liking for American West Coast music from the sixties and I was a Beatles fan through and through.
We bought guitars and learned enough chords to be able to play, first Eleanor Rigby and then Rocky Raccoon. I earned a pound a week for delivering papers. Eight weeks bought the worst guitar I have ever seen and a further 6 weeks got me a Beatles Complete Songbook. It was the only guitar tutor I ever had.
More ambitious friends went electric and were soon expounding the virtues of their two guitar heroes. Jimi Hendrix was big all over the world. Rory Gallagher was huge in the southern lakes. He is the only one of the white blues musicians from these islands who convinced me that he was playing for the sheer pleasure of playing. His work on the Fender Stratocaster was inspiring, even to a non blues fan like me. It was his acoustic work though, that made me stop and listen. (One of those electric friends from forty years ago has just Facebooked me a message to say that his new band have Bullfrog Blues in their setlist.)
Everyone back then claimed Leadbelly and Big Bill Broonzy as influences. The difference between experts and amateurs was often whether they had heard any Muddy Waters. You didn't have to have heard these fellows if you heard Rory Gallagher. His sound was very different but it contained the honesty and admiration of a true disciple. He'd heard it, understood it, absorbed it and reproduced it in his own distinct sound.
We also liked his look of distressed jeans, lumberjack shirt streaked with sweat and great cascading waves of hair with the most tremendous mutton chop sidies. He had a genuine and cherubic smile. His appearance on The Old Grey Whistle Test (a weekly television programme that played music from beyond the top 50) was introduced by Stanley Unwin; what more could you want? His battered and paint stripped strat was the best looking well used guitar since Willie Nelson's Trigger.
Because the bookshop in Sligo was getting ready to close, I grabbed the first readable book I saw. It was Inishowen by Joseph O'Connor. The hero, Martin Aitken, was a big Rory Gallagher fan, had followed him in his formative years up the west from Cork to Galway, Galway to Spiddal and on to Donegal. The book is a belting read and should be interspersed with the playing of Hands Off and Messing with the Kid. I read it in a deep filled Sligo bath tub smug with the coincidence and laughing every other page. I'd turned south and the book was beginning to make me regret my choice.
The statue of Rory in the middle of Ballyshannon is not the greatest tribute ever cast in bronze but it does capture the sleeves rolled up no messing working class gutsiness of much of his playing. Much of this meditation wanders around my head as a sit opposite it and drink coffee. Rory Gallagher died in 1995 at the age of 47. He spent much of his life on the road and played as often for the fun of playing as he did for money. He was one of the good guys.
I like Ballyshannon. It is just about as perfectly situated as it is possible for town to be. It has river and lake, estuary and sea. You can be in Donegal or Sligo in less than half and hour or you can be on your way to solitude and the elements. The Donegal culture is strong; there is no need to ask around here about What's so Funny 'bout Peace Love and Understanding? I want to head north into Donegal proper and the town of that name. To continue going north and west towards Malin Head where I had an invitation to stay with friends of friends who had sought and found a life that answered just about every alternative they had ever wished for.
It would be a huge journey on its own and not one for someone who may already be too ill to get home. My chest has continued to rattle and wheeze and I take my time where I am. I wander to the very top where the church stands sentinel to the town and the graveyard has the loftiness of an eagles nest. William Allingham came from Ballyshannon and his line 'Up the airy mountain' has a resonance up here.
I have a decision to make and take my time before setting out towards the distant shape of one of the British Isles most remarkable geographical features. Benbulben presents a fierce face to the Atlantic gales and is spectacular in any weather. Beneath it's shadow lies a far greater poet and my day's ride is to get a little closer to the man and his works.
Yeats is always referred to formally. Never Bill Yeats or William Yeats; always WB or William Butler. The first Irish poet to be awarded the Nobel Prize and possibly the only poet to write his best work after the prize had been awarded. A Nationalist but not a Catholic. The man who, with Lady Gregory, established serious Irish Theatre, revived Irish Literature and the man who sent JM Synge off to the Aran Islands to learn the poetry of local dialect.
My father in law was a learned man and a huge admirer of Yeats. I liked what I knew but was becoming more aware by each slowly pedalled windswept mile, just how little I did know.
There are plenty of signs pointing out his grave. It is only one stone though, and that isn't enough to hold the trickle of tourists who enter the churchyard and stare briefly at the slab and seek ways of making it hold their attention for more than a minute. Most fail. I've brought along a battered copy of his selected poems. An enterprising fellow has set up a mobile coffee stall. The coffee is good and goes well with the words.
There is a difficulty. Yeats died in France. His body was buried, disinterred and placed in an ossuary before being re-interred, dug up again according to his wishes and brought back to Sligo. The authorities in France gave due warning. Thousands visit Yeats grave every year. Hundreds came and went while I sat and read and sketched and sipped coffee cup by cup. He had been dead for nine years when his remains were repatriated to Ireland. There is no certainty that the body brought from France and buried here was that of the poet.
I'm not sure how he would have felt about that.


text:
<?php
/*
   Plugin Name: Featured Media
   Plugin URI: https://github.com/stephansmith/typekitty
   Description: Creates Featured Audio/Video meta box for posts with the audio/video post type.
   Version: 1.0
   Author: Stephan Smith
   Author URI: http://stephan-smith.com
   License: GPL2
   */

class FeaturedMedia {

	/**
	 * Holds the values to be used in the fields callbacks
	 */
	public $options;

	public $metaboxes = array(
	    'video_file' => array(
	    	'title'             => 'Featured Video',
	        'applicableto'      => 'post',
	        'location'          => 'normal',
	        'display_condition' => 'post-format-video',
	        'priority'          => 'default',
	        'fields'            => array(
	            'featured_video'  => array(
	                'title'         => 'Video File',
	                'type'          => 'video',
	                'description'   => ''
	            )
	        )
	    ),
	    'audio_file' => array(
	    	'title'             => 'Featured Audio',
	        'applicableto'      => 'post',
	        'location'          => 'normal',
	        'display_condition' => 'post-format-audio',
	        'priority'          => 'default',
	        'fields'            => array(
	            'featured_audio'  => array(
	                'title'         => 'Audio File',
	                'type'          => 'audio',
	                'description'   => ''
	            )
	        )
	    )
	);

	public function __construct() {

		add_action( 'admin_init', array( $this, 'add_post_format_metabox' ) );

		add_action( 'save_post', array( $this, 'save_metaboxes' ) );

		add_action( 'admin_print_scripts', array( $this, 'display_metaboxes' ), 1000 );
	}

	public function add_post_format_metabox() {

	    $metaboxes = $this->metaboxes;

	    if ( ! empty( $metaboxes ) ) {
	        foreach ( $metaboxes as $id => $metabox ) {
	            add_meta_box( $id, $metabox['title'], array( $this, 'show_metaboxes' ), $metabox['applicableto'], $metabox['location'], $metabox['priority'], $id );
	        }
	    }
	}

	public function show_metaboxes( $post, $args ) {

	    $metaboxes = $this->metaboxes;

	    $custom = get_post_custom( $post->ID );

	    $fields = $tabs = $metaboxes[ $args['id'] ]['fields'];

	    /** Nonce **/
	    $output = '<input type="hidden" name="' . $args['id'] . '_post_format_meta_box_nonce" value="' . wp_create_nonce( basename( __FILE__ ) ) . '" />';

	    if ( sizeof( $fields ) ) {
	        foreach ( $fields as $id => $field ) {
	            switch ( $field['type'] ) {

	                case 'video' :
	                case 'audio' :

	                    $output .= '<input id="' . esc_attr( $id ) . '" type="hidden" name="' . esc_attr( $id ) . '" value="' . esc_attr( $custom[ $id ][0] ) . '">';
						$output .= '
' . $this->get_the_player( $post->ID, false ) . '
';
						$output .= '<button class="button upload_featured_media_button" type="button" data-mimetype="' . esc_attr( $field['type' ] ) . '" data-field="' . esc_attr( $id ) . '"> Select ' . __( $field['title'] ) . '</button>';

						if ( $field['description'] != '' ) {
							$output .= '
' . __( $field['description'] ) . '
';
						}

	                    break;

	                default:

	                	break;
	            }
	        }
	    }

	    echo $output;
	}

	public function save_metaboxes( $post_id ) {

		$metaboxes = $this->metaboxes;

		if ( 'post' != $_POST['post_type'] )
			return $post_id;

	    // check autosave
	    if ( defined( 'DOING_AUTOSAVE' ) && DOING_AUTOSAVE )
	        return $post_id;

	    // check permissions
	    if ( 'page' == $_POST['post_type'] ) {
	        if ( ! current_user_can( 'edit_page', $post_id ) )
	            return $post_id;
	    } elseif ( ! current_user_can( 'edit_post', $post_id ) ) {
	        return $post_id;
	    }

	    $post_type = get_post_type();

	    // loop through fields and save the data
	    foreach ( $metaboxes as $id => $metabox ) {
			// verify nonce
			if ( ! wp_verify_nonce( $_POST[ $id . '_post_format_meta_box_nonce' ], basename( __FILE__ ) ) )
	        	return $post_id;

	        // check if metabox is applicable for current post type
	        if ( $metabox['applicableto'] == $post_type ) {
	            $fields = $metaboxes[$id]['fields'];

	            foreach ( $fields as $id => $field ) {
	                $old = get_post_meta( $post_id, $id, true );
	                $new = $_POST[$id];

	                if ( $new && $new != $old ) {
	                    update_post_meta( $post_id, $id, $new );
	                }
	                elseif ( '' == $new && $old || ! isset( $_POST[$id] ) ) {
	                    delete_post_meta( $post_id, $id, $old );
	                }
	            }
	        }
	    }
	}

	function display_metaboxes() {

	    $metaboxes = $this->metaboxes;

	    if ( get_post_type() == "post" ) :
	        ?>

	        <?php
	    endif;
	}

	/**
	 * Returns true if a blog has more than 1 category.
	 *
	 * @return bool
	 */
	function get_the_player( $post_ID, $echo = true ) {

		$return = '';

		if ( get_post_meta( $post_ID, 'featured_video', true ) != '' ) {
			$src = wp_get_attachment_url( get_post_meta( $post_ID, 'featured_video', true ) );
			$return = wp_video_shortcode( array( 'src'=>$src ) );
		}
		else if ( get_post_meta( $post_ID, 'featured_audio', true ) != '' ) {
			$src = wp_get_attachment_url( get_post_meta( $post_ID, 'featured_audio', true ) );
			$return = wp_audio_shortcode( array( 'src'=>$src ) );
		}

		if ( $echo ) {
			echo $return;
		}
		else {
			return $return;
		}
	}

}

if ( is_admin() )
	$FeaturedMedia = new FeaturedMedia();

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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input.sheet-tab:not(:first-child)::before
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textarea.sheet-textarea_3:hover,textarea.sheet-textarea_3:focus,
textarea.sheet-textarea_2:hover,textarea.sheet-textarea_2:focus,
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    border-right: none;
    border-bottom: 1px solid black;
    box-shadow: none;
    background:transparent;
    text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px white;
    color:black;
    font-weight:700;
    }

input.sheet-counter[type=number]::-webkit-inner-spin-button,
input.sheet-counter[type=number]::-webkit-outer-spin-button {
  -webkit-appearance: none;
  margin: 0;
}
.sheet-heading_label {
    margin-left:0px;
    margin-bottom:-6px;
    padding-left: 10px;
    border: 1px solid #B35439;
    border-radius: 15px 15px 0px 0px;
    background:#B35439;
    text-shadow: 0px 0px 5px white, 0px 0px 5px white, 0px 0px 5px white;
    width:155px;
}
/*----------- End of Text -------------*/
/*----------- Tables -------------*/
.sheet-table_1 th {
    font-family: 'GreatVibesRegular', "Shadows Into Light", cursive;
    }
.sheet-table_2 {
    border: 1px solid black;
    margin-top:5px;
    margin-bottom:5px;

    }
.sheet-table_2 th {
    font-family: 'GreatVibesRegular', "Shadows Into Light", cursive;
    text-align:left;
    }

/*----------- End of Tables -------------*/
/*----------- textarea -------------*/
textarea.sheet-textarea_1 {
    width: 200px;
    resize:vertical;
    height:90px;
    border:1px dotted #d3d3d3;
    border-radius:15px;
    }
textarea.sheet-textarea_2 {
    width: 400px;
    resize:vertical;
    height:45px;
    border:1px dotted #d3d3d3;
    border-radius:15px;
    }
textarea.sheet-textarea_3 {
    width: 180px;
    resize:vertical;
    height:30px;
    border:1px dotted #d3d3d3;
    border-radius:15px;
    }
/*----------- End of textarea -------------*/
/*----------- Select -------------*/
select.sheet-select_1 {
    -webkit-appearance: none;
    padding-top:0px;
    padding-right:0px;
    appearance: none;
    margin-bottom: 0;
    width:110px;
    font-family: 'GreatVibesRegular', "Shadows Into Light", cursive;
}

select {
    -moz-appearance: none;
}

select *.sheet-italic {
    font-style:italic;
}
/*----------- End of Select -------------*/
/*----------- Hide Things -------------*/
.sheet-hidden {
    display: none;
}

input.sheet-hider:checked ~ div.sheet-hide {
    display: none;
}
/*----------- End of Hide Things -------------*/
/*----------- Checkbox -------------*/
    /* Hide actual checkbox */

input.sheet-checkbox_3[type="checkbox"],
input.sheet-checkbox_2[type="checkbox"],
input.sheet-checkbox_1[type="checkbox"] {
    opacity: 0;
    width: 16px;
    height: 16px;
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 8px;
    margin:0px;
    cursor: pointer;
    z-index: 1;
}

    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-checkbox_2[type="checkbox"] + span::before,
input.sheet-checkbox_1[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    margin-right: 4px;
    border: solid 1px #a8a8a8;
    line-height: 14px;
    text-align: center;
    display: inline-block;
    vertical-align: middle;

    -moz-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    -webkit-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;

    background: #f6f6f6;
    background: -moz-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -webkit-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -ms-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -o-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
}

    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-checkbox_2[type="checkbox"] + span::before,
input.sheet-checkbox_1[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    content: "";
    width: 14px;
    height: 14px;
    font-size: 12px;

    -moz-border-radius: 3px;
    -webkit-border-radius: 3px;
    border-radius: 3px;
}
input.sheet-checkbox_1[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 0px;
    margin:-10px;
}

input.sheet-checkbox_2[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 0px;
    margin:-10px;
}
input.sheet-checkbox_1[type="checkbox"]:checked + span::before {
    content: "✓";
}
input.sheet-checkbox_2[type="checkbox"]:checked + span::before {
    content: "x";
    color:red;

}    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-checkbox_3[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    margin-right: 4px;
    border: solid 1px #a8a8a8;
    line-height: 14px;
    text-align: center;
    display: inline-block;
    vertical-align: middle;

    -moz-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    -webkit-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;

    background: #f6f6f6;
}

    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-checkbox_3[type="checkbox"] + span::before {
    content: "";
    width: 14px;
    height: 14px;
    font-size: 12px;

    -moz-border-radius: 3px;
    -webkit-border-radius: 3px;
    border-radius: 3px;
}
/*----------- Radio -------------*/

    /* Hide actual radio */
input.sheet-radio_2[type="radio"],
input.sheet-radio_1[type="radio"] {
    opacity: 0;
    width: 16px;
    height: 16px;
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 8px;
    margin:0px;
    cursor: pointer;
    z-index: 1;
}

    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-radio_2[type="radio"] + span::before,
input.sheet-radio_1[type="radio"] + span::before {
    margin-right: 4px;
    border: solid 1px #a8a8a8;
    line-height: 14px;
    text-align: center;
    display: inline-block;
    vertical-align: middle;
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 0px;
    margin:-8px;

    -moz-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    -webkit-box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;
    box-shadow: 0 0 2px #ccc;

    background: #f6f6f6;
    background: -moz-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -webkit-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -ms-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: -o-radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
    background: radial-gradient(#f6f6f6, #dfdfdf);
}

input.sheet-radio_1[type="radio"] + span::before {
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: -8px;
    margin:0px;
}

input.sheet-radio_2[type="radio"] + span::before {
    position: relative;
    top: 0px;
    left: 0px;
    margin:-10px;
}

    /* Fake checkbox */
input.sheet-radio_2[type="radio"] + span::before,
input.sheet-radio_1[type="radio"] + span::before {
    content: "";
    width: 14px;
    height: 14px;
    font-size: 12px;

    -moz-border-radius: 3px;
    -webkit-border-radius: 3px;
    border-radius: 3px;
}
input.sheet-radio_2[type="radio"]:checked + span::before,
input.sheet-radio_1[type="radio"]:checked + span::before {
    content: "x";
}

/*----------- End of Checkbox -------------*/
/*----------- Buttons -------------*/
button.sheet-button_1:before {
    content: "" !important;
}
button.sheet-botch:before{
    content: "" !important;
    display: none;
}

button.sheet-botch {
    font-family: 'GreatVibesRegular', "Shadows Into Light", cursive;
    color:white;
    text-shadow:0px 0px 0.5em black;

    text-align: center;
    display: inline-block;

    background: #fff;
    background: -moz-linear-gradient(to top, #fff, #08667f, #fff);
    background: -webkit-linear-gradient(to top, #fff, #08667f, #fff);
    background: -ms-linear-gradient(to top, #fff, #08667f, #fff);
    background: -o-linear-gradient(to top, #fff, #08667f, #fff);
    background: linear-gradient(to top, #fff, #08667f, #fff);

    width: 130px;
    height: 24px;
    font-size: 16px;
    line-height:18px;
    font-weight:700;
    border-radius: 15px 15px 15px 15px;

    border:1px solid black;
}
button.sheet-botch:hover {
    background: #fff;
    background: -moz-linear-gradient(to top, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -webkit-linear-gradient(to top, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -ms-linear-gradient(to top, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -o-linear-gradient(to top, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: linear-gradient(to top, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
}
button.sheet-botch:active {
    background: #fff;
    background: -moz-linear-gradient(to left, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -webkit-linear-gradient(to left, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -ms-linear-gradient(to left, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: -o-linear-gradient(to left, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
    background: linear-gradient(to left, #08667f, #fff, #08667f);
}

/* ======== skillbtn ========*/
.sheet-skillbtn button[type="roll"]:before,
.sheet-skillbtn:before  {
    content: ""!important;
    display: none;
    border:none;
}
.sheet-skillbtn button[type="roll"],
.sheet-skillbtn {
    display: block;
    -moz-border-radius: 5px;
    -webkit-border-radius: 5px;
    border-radius: 5px;
    border: 1px solid #2A4792;
    box-shadow: none;
    outline:0;

    margin: 0;
    background: radial-gradient(circle at 0px 10px, white, gray);
    font-size:1em !important;
    font-family: 'Contrail One', Copperplate, 'Copperplate Gothic Light';
    font-weight:bold;
    height:25px;
    width: 90px;
    padding-left:20px;
    color: black;
    text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #fff, 0px 0px 10px #fff, 0px 0px 10px #fff;
}
.sheet-skillbtn button[type="roll"]:hover,
.sheet-skillbtn:hover  {
    background: radial-gradient(circle at 40px 10px, white, gray);
}

.sheet-skillbtn button[type="roll"]:active,
.sheet-skillbtn:active  {
    background: radial-gradient(circle at 80px 10px, white, gray);
}
/*----------- End of Buttons -------------*/
/*=== spell ===*/
.sheet-rolltemplate-spell table {
    width: 100%;
    background: white;
    color: black;
    background: white;
    font-size: 1em;
    font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif;
    box-shadow: -5px -5px 6px #8B0000, -5px -5px 6px black;
    border-top-left-radius:15px;
    border-top-right-radius:15px;
}

.sheet-rolltemplate-spell th {
    background:#B35439;
    background-size: 100%;
    color: white;
    padding: 2px;
    border-bottom: 1px solid black;
	line-height: 1.6em;
	font-size: 1.2em;
    text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px black;
    border-top-left-radius:15px;
    border-top-right-radius:15px;
}

.sheet-rolltemplate-spell .sheet-tcat {
	font-weight: bold;
}

.sheet-rolltemplate-spell .inlinerollresult  {
	display: inline-block;
	min-width: 1.5em;
	text-align: center;
	border: 2px solid rgba(167, 168, 170,1); /*Cool Gray 6 C*/
}

.sheet-rolltemplate-spell .inlinerollresult.fullfail {
	border: 2px solid #B31515;
}

.sheet-rolltemplate-spell .inlinerollresult.importantroll {
	border: 2px solid #4A57ED;
}


Not many filmmakers would be comfortable casting amateurs with zero experience in their films; Shilpa Krishnan Shukla, on the other hand, prefers it. In fact, the 36-year-old Singaporean filmmaker admitted she likes to choose her actors first, and then write custom scripts for them. For her first two short films, Shukla cast a close uncle and her husband respectively.
"It's a different set of challenges with each of them—but I prefer that, I don't actually look forward to working with professionals somehow," she said.
Born in Kerala, India, Shukla came to Singapore in 1998 on a scholarship to study at Raffles Junior College. Later, as an undergraduate at National University of Singapore, she became active in theatre, staging her own productions and reading blogs about film on the side. It was only when a blog she was following made an open call for 1-minute films that Shukla decided to try her hand at the art form.
Both the shorts went on to be shortlisted in the top 25 of the online film festival organised by now-defunct indie film website Passion for Cinema, back in 2008. It proved enough encouragement for Shukla to start experimenting with filmmaking more seriously.
Today, the computer engineer by training has 10 films under her belt, and a bevy of international awards to go with. But her fondness for casting friends and first-timers remains as strong as ever. Her latest film and third full-length feature Tashi, a family drama delving into themes of caregiving and filial piety, cast a 72-year-old lady (Ila Maheshwari) Shukla was close to prior, who had once expressed interest in acting in a film. The English-Hindi Tashi is her feature film debut.
Shot entirely in Singapore in just eight days, Tashi revolves around a family of four (an elderly mother, her two children, and the house helper) and a house guest who has to grapple with caregiving responsibilities. Currently doing its festival circuit, the film has travelled to 12 film festivals across India and won 11 awards. It recently had its Singapore debut in the form of two sold-out screenings at The Projector last Sunday (Nov 25).
Ultimately, Shukla's approach to film has a homemade, from-the-heart quality that's missing in many hotshot commercial films today. Aside from casting friends, Shukla works with a small team of regulars who, like herself, never received formal training at a film school. Her budget hovers typically around $20,000 a film, shooting schedules wrap in under 10 days, and all the necessary post-production work (from editing to dialogue dubbing) is done in her house.
Even when she made her second feature film Pularum Iniyum Naalekal (There's Always Tomorrow), shot in Abu Dhabi, Shukla and her team completed filming in 10 days, and racked up an expenditure of $25,000. At last count, the film has travelled to 37 film festivals worldwide, picking up 18 awards across multiple categories.
Her approach is equal parts habit and necessity. A mother of one and full-time marketing director at pharmaceutical company Abbott Healthcare, Shukla juggles filmmaking as a part-time passion. She flies her co-producer and cinematographer Mathew Jenif Joseph down from India for 10 days at a time; so time management is crucial.
Her next project, Kathaah@8, is an eight-film anthology of eight regional Indian languages, due to begin filming in February 2019. Multiple challenges await: once again, Joseph will be down for 10 days to shoot, but this time he has to do eight short films within the same period—which works out to roughly one film a day. It's also the first time Shukla will be working with complete strangers.
But these are hardly obstacles for the filmmaker of 10 years. Sharing about the "backbreaking" process of writing, doing outdoor shoots, editing, and dubbing, Shukla is keen to emphasise that it's still the act of making a movie that brings her joy. So bombard her with numbers all you want—be it in shoot days, distribution stats, or profits. The modern-day Wonder Woman remains unruffled; she's just having fun.
More on Shukla's filmmaking ethos below.
How did the idea for Tashi come about? Did you select your cast first?
So it just so happened that I went to watch a play, and all the actors in the play I already sort of knew. I was just in that space, and suddenly I thought wait I can actually write something with these people. So I sort of fixed the cast in my head, and then I wrote the script.
A lot of the inspiration for Tashi, in terms of the theme itself, came because I worked for a brand called Ensure (an adult nutrition drink), and it's mainly for people who are 50+ years old. I meet with a lot of consumers who are 50+ to listen to them talk, and I get to meet their caregivers. And it was in fact after meeting a particular lady in Singapore that Tashi actually formed as an idea.
This Singaporean lady was a single lady living with her parents, both of whom are sick. It was very difficult talking to her because she herself is close to 50, and she has parents who are 70 to 80 years old; and this whole burden of having to take care of them. She has siblings but they're married and have their own lives, so the burden of it is coming solely on her. I don't even know her name; I was talking to her for research. But it was really inspiring.
Are your other films also based on personal experiences you've had?
I would say it's less fiction, more facts, in a lot of my films—mainly because I cannot write about things I don't have experience with. Because I don't have time for research, a lot of the concepts are inspired from my life, my extended friends, family.
In contrast, a lot of Singaporean films that do well overseas seem to have very big ideas.
That's not my style; I can't make films like that. Maybe I can if I try to think about it that way, but for me the priority is really just to have fun. Film festivals they're great, but it's not about that. People like to ask me what I'm going to do with this film (Tashi), what's next; is it going on Netflix? I don't know; I honestly don't even care. Because the money that I put into it is as expensive as a European vacation, let's say. It is a lot of money—but I just don't have to go on a vacation for a year and then I can sort of save that; but it's not a lot of money from a filmmaking perspective.
So to me it's less about do I get distribution, do I make my money back, do I strike a profit, do I get the awards, do I go to film festivals. I don't make films with that in mind, and because of that they might not get to that level—and that's fine.
Do you always shoot in Singapore?
Yes, my only film that was not shot in Singapore is the Abu Dhabi one; every other film is shot here. For Tashi it was mainly things happening inside the house—we used one of the actors' houses; the rest we did outdoors. We used Faber Point, and a couple of scenes at MacRitchie (Reservoir).
You do a lot of effective budgeting. Is maintaining that hard?
It's the only way to keep it going right? Which is also why it doesn't affect me as much. I just tell these people if your satisfaction comes in selling it, or getting that particular festival or this particular award, then you're going to be very dissatisfied. I get a lot of joy just making a movie; I just really enjoy the process.
Keep up with Shilpa's filmmaking projects here.


text:
World will never forget this laughing..
Documents..
Khameneh'i personally authorized public flogging and hanging
TEHRAN First of September (IPS) Amidst growing controversy over the Islamic punishment of flogging, hanging and stoning wrongdoers in public, more conservative tenors have added recently their voices in support of the measures and called for the "talebanisation", or "saudisation" of the Iranian regime.
The punishments, known as Islamic measures, have been put into effect since last month by the Chief Judiciary, the Iraqi-born Ayatollah Mahmood Hashemi-Shahroodi, on orders from the leader of the present Iranian Islamic system, Ayatollah Ali Khameneh'i, himself a devout fundamentalist.
However, what opposes the clerics is not the flogging or hanging, but the place that the penalty should take place and applied, as the orthodox insist the measures be carried out in public in order to produce the maximum of impact on both the culprits and the society in the one hand and on the other, the moderates, fearing for the image of Islam and Iran's relations with outside world, wants them to take place behind closed doors.
"The (Afghan ruling) Taleban, which we always curse, have restored security for their people. Are we less than them?" said former Intelligence Minister Hojjatoleslam Qorbanali Dorri-Najafabadi during Friday prayers in Tehran. Mr. Dorri-Najafabadi called for the "talebanisation" of the Iranian regime even though not only Tehran has not recognized the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, but routinely condemns the Taleban for their zeal in the strict application of Islamic laws, including forbidding women from work and education, music, dance, arts, or their recent destruction of giant statues of Buddha in Bamiyan.
"In Islam's heyday, a woman could safely travel the world all alone. Iran should become like that", Mr. Dorri-Najafabadi said, without giving any example of such women travellers during Islamic heydays, when women were not allowed to come out of their tents, let alone travel.
Ayatollah Ahmad Jannati, the Secretary of the Guardians Council who was conducting the Friday priers in the Tehran University also defended the public flogging by citing the example of Saudi Arabia. "Is it not a disgrace for us for not being able to guarantee security as much as the Saudis?" he asked the worshippers, before adding: "We must kiss the hands of those in the Judiciary who have decided to impose and carry out the Islamic punishments in public.
"Social corruption is running rampant in Iran. Corruption will burn us worse than fire; we have to stop it and the way to do it is by imposing divine limits", he said, pointing out that the aim of flogging culprits and hanging criminals in public is to keep the society free of corruption, moral as well as financial. Mr. Jannati condemned the "commotion" which he said had been stirred up by foreign media over the public execution of punishments.
"The honour of the Islamic Revolution is under threat. How are foreigners to judge us?" he said, going on to say the punishments were essential for public security.
"What are we going to be left with if people's womenfolk do not feel secure? People may sacrifice even their property and their own lives, but they cannot tolerate anyone harassing their womenfolk," he said. However, the renewal of public hangings and floggings has drawn criticism from reform-minded officials and international rights groups. They say such punishments are inhumane and harm Iran's image abroad at a time when President Mohammad Khatami fights hard to project Iran as an example of Islamic democracy in the world, if not a democratic state.
Since the introduction of the measures, more than three hundred people, mostly young ones of both sexes have been flogged in public places in Tehran and other cities and a dozen of others have been hanged. Those hanged in public in Iran are generally convicted murderers, kidnappers or drug traffickers. Courts order public lashings mainly for young men charged with harassing women or drinking alcohol, banned by Islam.
Contrary to Mr. Hashemi-Shahroodi and other hard line clerics who pretend that the public is happy with the flogging and hanging, eyewitnesses and journalists present at the scenes have reported clashes between people protecting to the measures with Law Enforcement Forces.
To complete the Islamic punishments, the authorities have also introduced new restrictions for people's behaviour in public, forbidding restaurants and cafes owners to serve women not respecting full Islamic dress known as hejab, shop owners selling women clothes not use female mannequins in their windows and not display women underwear, ordering police to arrest drivers driving with loud music, mostly western, people wearing T-shirt with pictures of pop singers or movie stars, etc.
"The picture displayed before our eyes is one where every thing is dark, closure, limitations, violence and repression", Interior Minister Hojjatoleslam Abdolvahed Mousavi-Lari told the annual gathering of Iranian students. Referring to the supporters of talebanisation, Mr. Mousavi-Lari said the picture orthodox project from Islam is "nothing but darkness and violence" but immediately added that he was not against flogging, but not be carried out in public places and in the presence of thousands of people, some disapproving.
Reformist officials, including Foreign Minister Kamal Kharrazi, have warned Hashemi-Shahroodi about flogging and hanging, telling him that the measures harms Iran's international standing and its drive to attract foreign tourists and investment.
But the President of the Supreme Court go even further than other hard line conservatives, saying one can even set a fire and throw the culprits into it alive. He also warned the reformists-dominated Majles against interfering in the execution of Islamic punishments amid an intense political debate over the rising number of public floggings.
"The penal code complements judicial laws. If the penal code did not exist, order in society would be destabilised", Ayatollah Mohammadi Gilani said, cited by Thursday's afternoon Kayhan paper. "MMs (members of the Majles) should not cross the line when commenting (on the issue) and should not enter the field of Islamic jurisprudence," Gilani said, criticising "all this uproar" over public punishments.
"If anyone has corrupted, then that person must be punished according to Islamic penal code", he said, adding that only the nation's supreme leader can intervene in the carrying out of a punishment.
In recent days, the nation's powerful conservatives have been caught up in a debate with reformers concerned over the effects of public punishments on Iran's international image. Gilani's comments also come just after parliament held a top-level emergency meeting Tuesday to review the debate over public punishments.
Mr. Gilani disclosed that the public punishments are carried out with the authorization of Ayatollah Khameneh'i who, so far, has not taken side, but observer quotes a Persian proverb that says "silence is synonymous of approval".
The issue of public punishments "is not just a legal matter, but also carries political, security, social, domestic and international" importance, said Mr. Mohsen Armin, Majles deputy Speaker. According to Armin, the Supreme National Security Council (SNSC) headed by President Khatami is now scheduled to study the report by parliament's national security and foreign policy committee on the debate. But Mr. Gilani say one cannot compromise on divine orders. "If we had implemented Islamic teachings all along, we would not have had all this hue and cry", he told No Rooz newspaper.
The ayatollah described Islamic guidelines on flogging offenders as follows: "We beat them to the point where the whip breaks the skin and scores the flesh underneath. It is alright to break the bone, and if he dies under the blows, he is not entitled to blood money."
He said there was a maximum number of lashes authorized, and that there were rules about whether "to hold the whip by the end, the middle, or at a third of the length". For his part, ultraconservative Ayatollah Mohammad-Taghi Mesbah Yazdi, professor at a religious school in the Iranian holy city of Qom, said last week that "if the Westerners do not like it, that is their problem, but the death penalty and the use of flogging are fundamental principles of our religion." Intellectuals and dissident rights groups outside Iran have strongly rejected the decision of flogging.
"One would wish that the reformists had the same courage of their views in condemning categorically the measures, as the conservatives who openly and defiantly defend flogging and hanging", commented Dr. Hoseyn Baqerzadeh, a human rights activist based in England.
Hanged in South of Tehran
Holy Leaders convicted..
Kurd leader shot..
Married women stoned to death..
stoned to death...
Executions by hanging are carried out in Islamic Republic of ayatollahs in accordance with the Islamic "eye-for-an-eye" law of retribution, otherwise known as "qesas",

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
<?php

namespace InfyOm\Generator\Generators;

use InfyOm\Generator\Common\CommandData;
use InfyOm\Generator\Common\GeneratorFieldRelation;
use InfyOm\Generator\Utils\FileUtil;
use InfyOm\Generator\Utils\TableFieldsGenerator;

class ModelGenerator extends BaseGenerator
{
    /**
     * Fields not included in the generator by default.
     *
     * @var array
     */
    protected $excluded_fields = [
        'created_at',
        'updated_at',
    ];

    /** @var CommandData */
    private $commandData;

    /** @var string */
    private $path;
    private $fileName;
    private $table;

    /**
     * ModelGenerator constructor.
     *
     * @param \InfyOm\Generator\Common\CommandData $commandData
     */
    public function __construct(CommandData $commandData)
    {
        $this->commandData = $commandData;
        $this->path = $commandData->config->pathModel;
        $this->fileName = $this->commandData->modelName.'.php';
        $this->table = $this->commandData->dynamicVars['$TABLE_NAME$'];
    }

    public function generate()
    {
        $templateData = get_template('model.model', 'laravel-generator');

        $templateData = $this->fillTemplate($templateData);

        FileUtil::createFile($this->path, $this->fileName, $templateData);

        $this->commandData->commandComment("\nModel created: ");
        $this->commandData->commandInfo($this->fileName);
    }

    private function fillTemplate($templateData)
    {
        $templateData = fill_template($this->commandData->dynamicVars, $templateData);

        $templateData = $this->fillSoftDeletes($templateData);

        $fillables = [];

        foreach ($this->commandData->fields as $field) {
            if ($field->isFillable) {
                $fillables[] = "'".$field->name."'";
            }
        }

        $templateData = $this->fillDocs($templateData);

        $templateData = $this->fillTimestamps($templateData);

        if ($this->commandData->getOption('primary')) {
            $primary = infy_tab()."protected \$primaryKey = '".$this->commandData->getOption('primary')."';\n";
        } else {
            $primary = '';
        }

        $templateData = str_replace('$PRIMARY$', $primary, $templateData);

        $templateData = str_replace('$FIELDS$', implode(','.infy_nl_tab(1, 2), $fillables), $templateData);

        $templateData = str_replace('$RULES$', implode(','.infy_nl_tab(1, 2), $this->generateRules()), $templateData);

        $templateData = str_replace('$CAST$', implode(','.infy_nl_tab(1, 2), $this->generateCasts()), $templateData);

        $templateData = str_replace(
            '$RELATIONS$',
            fill_template($this->commandData->dynamicVars, implode(PHP_EOL.infy_nl_tab(1, 1), $this->generateRelations())),
            $templateData
        );

        $templateData = str_replace('$GENERATE_DATE$', date('F j, Y, g:i a T'), $templateData);

        return $templateData;
    }

    private function fillSoftDeletes($templateData)
    {
        if (!$this->commandData->getOption('softDelete')) {
            $templateData = str_replace('$SOFT_DELETE_IMPORT$', '', $templateData);
            $templateData = str_replace('$SOFT_DELETE$', '', $templateData);
            $templateData = str_replace('$SOFT_DELETE_DATES$', '', $templateData);
        } else {
            $templateData = str_replace(
                '$SOFT_DELETE_IMPORT$', "use Illuminate\\Database\\Eloquent\\SoftDeletes;\n",
                $templateData
            );
            $templateData = str_replace('$SOFT_DELETE$', infy_tab()."use SoftDeletes;\n", $templateData);
            $deletedAtTimestamp = config('infyom.laravel_generator.timestamps.deleted_at', 'deleted_at');
            $templateData = str_replace(
                '$SOFT_DELETE_DATES$', infy_nl_tab()."protected \$dates = ['".$deletedAtTimestamp."'];\n",
                $templateData
            );
        }

        return $templateData;
    }

    private function fillDocs($templateData)
    {
        if ($this->commandData->getAddOn('swagger')) {
            $templateData = $this->generateSwagger($templateData);
        } else {
            $docsTemplate = get_template('docs.model', 'laravel-generator');
            $docsTemplate = fill_template($this->commandData->dynamicVars, $docsTemplate);

            $fillables = '';
            foreach ($this->commandData->relations as $relation) {
                $fillables .= ' * @property '.$this->getPHPDocType($relation->type, $relation).PHP_EOL;
            }
            foreach ($this->commandData->fields as $field) {
                if ($field->isFillable) {
                    $fillables .= ' * @property '.$this->getPHPDocType($field->fieldType).' '.$field->name.PHP_EOL;
                }
            }
            $docsTemplate = str_replace('$GENERATE_DATE$', date('F j, Y, g:i a T'), $docsTemplate);
            $docsTemplate = str_replace('$PHPDOC$', $fillables, $docsTemplate);

            $templateData = str_replace('$DOCS$', $docsTemplate, $templateData);
        }

        return $templateData;
    }

    /**
     * @param $db_type
     * @param GeneratorFieldRelation|null $relation
     *
     * @return string
     */
    private function getPHPDocType($db_type, $relation = null)
    {
        switch ($db_type) {
            case 'datetime':
                return 'string|\Carbon\Carbon';
            case 'text':
                return 'string';
            case '1t1':
            case 'mt1':
                return '\\'.$this->commandData->config->nsModel.'\\'.$relation->inputs[0].' '.camel_case($relation->inputs[0]);
            case '1tm':
                return '\Illuminate\Database\Eloquent\Collection'.' '.$relation->inputs[0];
            case 'mtm':
            case 'hmt':
                return '\Illuminate\Database\Eloquent\Collection'.' '.camel_case($relation->inputs[1]);
            default:
                return $db_type;
        }
    }

    public function generateSwagger($templateData)
    {
        $fieldTypes = SwaggerGenerator::generateTypes($this->commandData->fields);

        $template = get_template('model.model', 'swagger-generator');

        $template = fill_template($this->commandData->dynamicVars, $template);

        $template = str_replace('$REQUIRED_FIELDS$',
            '"'.implode('"'.', '.'"', $this->generateRequiredFields()).'"', $template);

        $propertyTemplate = get_template('model.property', 'swagger-generator');

        $properties = SwaggerGenerator::preparePropertyFields($propertyTemplate, $fieldTypes);

        $template = str_replace('$PROPERTIES$', implode(",\n", $properties), $template);

        $templateData = str_replace('$DOCS$', $template, $templateData);

        return $templateData;
    }

    private function generateRequiredFields()
    {
        $requiredFields = [];

        foreach ($this->commandData->fields as $field) {
            if (!empty($field->validations)) {
                if (str_contains($field->validations, 'required')) {
                    $requiredFields[] = $field->name;
                }
            }
        }

        return $requiredFields;
    }

    private function fillTimestamps($templateData)
    {
        $timestamps = TableFieldsGenerator::getTimestampFieldNames();

        $replace = '';

        if ($this->commandData->getOption('fromTable')) {
            if (empty($timestamps)) {
                $replace = infy_nl_tab()."public \$timestamps = false;\n";
            } else {
                list($created_at, $updated_at) = collect($timestamps)->map(function ($field) {
                    return !empty($field) ? "'$field'" : 'null';
                });

                $replace .= infy_nl_tab()."const CREATED_AT = $created_at;";
                $replace .= infy_nl_tab()."const UPDATED_AT = $updated_at;\n";
            }
        }

        return str_replace('$TIMESTAMPS$', $replace, $templateData);
    }

    private function generateRules()
    {
        $rules = [];

        foreach ($this->commandData->fields as $field) {
            if (!empty($field->validations)) {
                $rule = "'".$field->name."' => '".$field->validations."'";
                $rules[] = $rule;
            }
        }

        return $rules;
    }

    public function generateCasts()
    {
        $casts = [];

        $timestamps = TableFieldsGenerator::getTimestampFieldNames();

        foreach ($this->commandData->fields as $field) {
            if (in_array($field->name, $timestamps)) {
                continue;
            }

            $rule = "'".$field->name."' => ";

            switch ($field->fieldType) {
                case 'integer':
                    $rule .= "'integer'";
                    break;
                case 'double':
                    $rule .= "'double'";
                    break;
                case 'float':
                    $rule .= "'float'";
                    break;
                case 'boolean':
                    $rule .= "'boolean'";
                    break;
                case 'dateTime':
                case 'dateTimeTz':
                    $rule .= "'datetime'";
                    break;
                case 'date':
                    $rule .= "'date'";
                    break;
                case 'enum':
                case 'string':
                case 'char':
                case 'text':
                    $rule .= "'string'";
                    break;
                default:
                    $rule = '';
                    break;
            }

            if (!empty($rule)) {
                $casts[] = $rule;
            }
        }

        return $casts;
    }

    private function generateRelations()
    {
        $relations = [];

        foreach ($this->commandData->relations as $relation) {
            $relationText = $relation->getRelationFunctionText();

            if (!empty($relationText)) {
                $relations[] = $relationText;
            }
        }

        return $relations;
    }

    public function rollback()
    {
        if ($this->rollbackFile($this->path, $this->fileName)) {
            $this->commandData->commandComment('Model file deleted: '.$this->fileName);
        }
    }
}