Monday dawned unseasonably warm and John got over excited, forgetting for the moment it was Ireland, and so texted several people to suggest a picnic for dinner on top of the sugarloaf (a ‘mountain’ akin to porthills overlooking Dublin). So not wanting to look like the unoutdoorsy type, off I trundled in my work gear, taking with me about 10 lb of cheese and crackers.
So there we sat amongst the rocks, feeling all smug at being at one with nature and being all pagan like, when a cloud descended. On top of us.
'Whose idea was this then?’ asks Paddy, silk cut hanging out of his corner of his mouth. Dour Scouser.
'Oh, there’s a patch of blue. Over there.' John, ever the optimist.
Couldn’t see it due to drizzle in eyes. So windy we couldn't light cigarettes. Was huddled under picnic blanket eating pate.
Finally, after some 5 minutes of silent shivering, the Irish weather won and we headed back down to the flat, where sausages intended for the BBQ were grilled in the oven.
Even if there is no summer to speak of, I still like it here.