Today we visited the Book of Kells and the beautiful library at Trinity College – I like libraries, somehow I feel like I resonate at the same frequency as libraries – and this is an incredibly beautiful one, making you wish you had an excuse to move into a dorm on campus and sit at the long tables and climb the wooden ladders to study rare books all day.
Last night, walking back from Temple Bar, a garbage bag that had been torn apart and scattered on the street caught my eye – its contents were brand new sports shoes we went over to check it out. While we were standing there poking at the contents, less than sober, curious and with no need to be anywhere in particular, a police car pulled into the street. Expecting to be asked to move along we straightened and looked at one another, struck silent.
The policeman in the passenger seat wound down the window: “Any size 10’s?”.
The landscapes, and town names, and people here remind me of the songs my Grandmother used to play on the piano, and now my brother loves with the faithful nostalgia Irish-Australians and Irish-Americans can’t seem to resist rendering to this place.
Mr K has been affecting a terrible Irish accent and making up Irish songs and sayings – this varies between being infuriating and being adorable. He does, helpfully, take requests and will make up a song on demand on any suggested topic, which can only be pure genius.
Old Irish saying (as reported by Mr K): You haven’t been to Blarney until you’ve been to Blarney twice.