I’m on the plane. I like planes. I like the total lack of common sense they exhibit when they get off the ground. I mean, seriously – this is NOT fucking likely! It’s a huge chunk of metal, all the way up there. What gives?

*blink*

I’m walking around Dublin. Put off the need to drive for a day or two. Good thing, too. Scared shitless of the roads here.

*blink*

I’m sitting at the Porterhouse bar, in Temple Bar. This is what a bar SHOULD be like. 4 floors, 10 kinds of home-brewed beer and a band playing blues standards and a kick-ass 5-minute drum solo. 3 pints of beer somehow make their way in. A baguette filled with something unexpected on the way to the hostel. Large-bra’ed Australians in my room and books and the top bunk in a bunk-bed.

*blink*

Walking around Dublin, again. Whiskey and beer and red-brick houses. Irish rebellions and plans for the next day.

*blink*

I’m in the Porterhouse again. 3 more pints find their way down and in and out and all around. A man is doing naughty, naughty things to an acoustic guitar, playing Simon & Garfunkel, Beatles and stuff with wild abandon. “Like Picasso painting a Rembrandt”, says Gal. They don’t serve food in bars late at night here. I need my grease and salt to go along with the beers. A pity. Drink more. Another baguette creeps up unexpectedly.

*blink*

I’m at the hostel again, typing away, using an ancient Mozilla Firebird (yes, THAT ancient) on an annoying linux PC. Tomorrow we leave Dublin. Glendalough, here we come. Fernando got his license suspended a few days ago, so it’s just me and Gal behind the wheel. Did I already mention I was scared shitless?

*blink*

Missed her three times these last two days. I like that.