Miscellaneous II

Evidenced by another extensive absence of fresh stories, I must admit that the writer’s zeal is hard to find these days. And as I’ve become even lazier than last time we’ll have to make so with pictures only to eternalise the past month!

Cycling tour Belfast – Dublin

Anja and Tommie visiting

Papa mama Jette Robby visiting

Dinner at Fallon & Byrne's

Birthday house party

Pieter’s goodbye weekend in Cork

Miscellaneous

It may have gone unnoticed, but I haven’t posted any stories for a while. For more than a month to be precise, while so much stuff has happened in the meantime! The urge just hasn’t really been there. And while I still do not feel the need to scribble down lengthy narratives about all the bliss I have experienced, I don’t want to lose out on all the memories either. Thus, a paragraph and a photograph each; that should do the job!

 Kalkaji reunion in Lisbon

Six years after I last saw Elisabeth, in Kalkaji (New Delhi, India), we met up again. The venue was gorgeous Lisbon where Johan and I had started our week-long Portugal trip that very morning. Our trip turned out to be a success, and the reunion between three former India dwellers even better. Meeting old friends while exploring a new country; a splendid combination indeed.

Rabobank tournament in Valkenswaard

As tradition prescribes ACC bank was yet again present at the annual Rabobank tournament in the Netherlands. And to pay homage to former Irish teams and their impressive track record we again secured the runners-up cup for the second time in a row. With Koen and Tommie as defensive reinforcements we managed to push through all the way to the final. Apart from a successful weekend on the pitch, the pints of beer on Friday and Saturday night also guaranteed a socially enjoyable weekend. More and better next year!

Taste of Dublin

Another annual winner, and I was so close to securing that EUR 50 bottle of champagne! Can’t imagine that someone beat that record of mine (89x) with keepy uppy with all those people swarming around. Ah well, the lad organising the whole thing might have drunk the bottle himself, and I can’t blame him!

Koen visiting

For the third time already since I moved here, Koen’s visit made for yet another splendid weekend. Off to Derry Friday afternoon, where we crawled some pubs, walked the city walls, and slept in a house-turned-hostel. We kept a lid on the number of pints as the next morning featured an early wake up as the Causeway walk was awaiting us; 20 km of sandy beaches and rough cliffs making for mesmerising views. The evening was spent in a 700 year old hotel in Carrickfergus, whereas we played a decent game of chess in the keep of the town’s famous castle the next morning. Great weather, great music in the car, and the best company made for a wonderful road trip that won’t be forgotten!

Birthday surprise

With Bo in Zurich and not too many people in Dublin aware of it my turning-28 seemed to go by rather unnoticed (despite all the lovely and much appreciated digital congratulations), until I got a phone call walking home from Pieter asking whether I’d be up to watch the Belgium football game. Arriving at the destined bar the lads surprised me with some cool presents and what would have been a rather uneventful Tuesday evening all of a sudden turned into a great night!

Sports sports sports

The rhythm goes unopposed with football twice a week, tennis once a week, and some decent cycling and running whenever I manage to squeeze it in! In the picture Jesus and I after our game at Rings end. 

Budapest

It is Saturday, a quarter past eleven in the morning. I wake up in a dorm room in Budapest. My mouth is gut dry and feels like a dead rodent has been stored in there for a considerable period of time, my body feels battered as if I barely survived a rugby debut in the Heineken Cup final. I find myself in the upper unit of a bunk bed and am instantly relieved that I didn’t topple out while sleeping. My right upper leg prominently displays a long drawn, deep bruise, red contrasting the white background of bare skin, throbbing awkwardly. My head doesn’t feel much better. Raymon, already awake and in considerably better shape, accuses me of having blown my nose in his shirt last night before going to sleep, among many other things. The nuisance I had been to Karine was at least at par – although she didn’t seem to mind as much. About 700 Euros in Hungarian Forint is scattered throughout my bag. Slowly memories start drifting in. What happened?! I blame Air Lingus and Irish stag parties.

Our trainee-reunion to Budapest had been scheduled for months and was eagerly anticipated as the date drew closer. Everyone would fly from the Netherlands whereas I would fly from Ireland – the other foreign-placed were too far away to make the journey for the weekend. My flight was neatly scheduled to arrive circa half an hour later than the main throng, just enough for David and Raymon to promise to wait for me so that we could take a joint cab to the city centre. Unfortunately, at the time that they had landed and I was supposed to have touched Hungarian soil as well, I found myself still at Dublin airport. The reason? Just after having taken my seat 3 hours earlier we were informed by the pilot that air traffic control wouldn’t allow us to depart for five minutes. And another five. And another. After half an hour we were finally given the go-ahead, but now the plane gave in. Despite various engineers pulling their best tricks the “technical problem” couldn’t be solved and two hours after we had boarded we were ordered out of the airplane and back into the departure hall. Another 45 minutes later and we were guided onto a unit that was supposed to fly to Barcelona but wasn’t in the end. Random story but at least we could leave! As the Barcelona flight was destined for at least 1.5 times our number of passengers, the previous seating got messed up, and I found myself in the middle of a group of 30-odd Northern Irish on their way to Hungary to celebrate a stag party. Sitting right next to two chatty and considerably drunk lads I had to make a choice; get up and seek another seat in order to catch some sleep, or join in and make the best of a lousy start of what should be a great weekend. When I was asked by “Cham” –the least drunk of the two- whether I would like to join in the celebrations, I gave in. Cham had bought a large bottle of gin and a number of smaller 7-up bottles at the airport, along with three big plastic cups from some coffee bar. Before reaching Budapest the bottle was empty, the better part of its content shared between the three of us, and I had become the best of friends with the two lads beside me. I wasn’t quite aware yet of how drunk I was, as gin and 7up make a drink as smooth as lemonade. Well, the air hostesses were aware of that. So aware that they issued a “verbal warning” and threatened a follow-up with police on the ground. Luckily the reception on arrival was grumpy ground force rather than angry policemen and I bade my new friends farewell only to make my way to the taxi stand. Oh wait, money. I had no idea of the exchange rate so picked a random figure on the ATM screen, not aware that 200,000 Forint translated to about 700 Euro, way more than I would ever spend on such a weekend and quite the amount to be carrying in your pockets when roaming the streets of Budapest at midnight. Anyway, I stuffed the banknotes in my pockets, caused a scene at the taxi stand because I thought I was being ripped off, and was driven to the hostel where David welcomed me and took me to the others who were enjoying their drinks in a bar around the corner. Hugs and slaps on the shoulder and a new drink in my hand signified officially the beginning of a new day –as it was just after midnight- and really and truly the beginning of an eventful night. Too bad I can’t remember too much of it.

The next day featured strolls through what is, after four visits, without a doubt one of my most favourite cities in the world. Being together with what are in theory colleagues but in essence very much friends was delightful and I enjoyed their presence tremendously. A visit to the parliament, sipping from drinks and eating Goulash out in the sun, roaming through gorgeous streets that breathe history, and of course catching up with all the stories and experiences that everyone had to share made for a fantastic Saturday. Dinner was organised in one of the city’s many hidden secrets; a cool venue with looks and atmosphere that were definitely superior to the quality of its food. Luckily Lian had the best meal she had ever had, making up for some other people’s lesser experiences. While not many people were in the party mood after an eventful Friday night and a full day of city-strolling, the club we ended up in was so thrilling that even the most reluctant of us were instantly convinced that this was something that couldn’t be missed out on. Budapest features many apartment blocks that have a square courtyard, surrounded by about five stories of rugged but classy exterior with wood panelled shutters and arched windows. Well, this club was located in one such courtyard, albeit with a roof placed on top of it, generating the experience that you’re outside as well as indoors at the same time. The music was excellent, the crowd featuring fewer scumbags than outside, and the vibe in our group enticing to say the least, with enthusiastic dancing drawing the eyes of many a square-faced local. Again the clock hit five when the day ended and my Sunday was largely spent on sleeping and strolling through gorgeous Budapest, having said goodbye to the others early in the afternoon, as the time left until my flight departed didn’t quite allow me to join in the afternoon activity to visit the spa. Well, I knew what I was missing out on. The return flight went a whole lot smoother than the way there and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep when I finally touched my pillow at ten pm that evening. Budapest, you were quite exhausting, but totally worth the trip. Exquisite company and a gorgeous venue; it doesn’t get much better than that. Thanks all for a wonderful weekend!!

Dingle

Expectations were high, especially after the bliss & beauty of county Donegal. Dingle is often said to be (one of) Ireland’s prettiest place(s), where the ocean dominates the land and Irish is the lingua franca. To be honest, it was an enjoyable trip. But we have plenty of proof by now that the weather is quite the decisive factor in Ireland. In the west, it rains a lot. As it did last weekend.

 The trip was to be car-less. Like the Wexford – New Ross – Waterford trip. We would take the train to Tralee and from there cycle to Dingle Town on day one, doing the Slea Head drive on day two, and back to Tralee and indeed to Dublin on day three. The first challenge already presented itself when we tried to book train tickets two days in advance. No designated bike spaces available for the way back. We decided to risk it, bearing in mind that the backup option –taking the 4:30 am train on Tuesday morning- wasn’t wholly appealing. Ah well, a bit of uncertainty only adds to the adventure, doesn’t it?

Overbooked trains weren’t the only challenge to deal with however, as the humid, sticky weather on Saturday appeared to have quite the restrictive effect on Bo’s ability to climb mountains on her brand new Giant. And even though she was grand keeping up on Sunday through the pouring rain, the Connor Pass on the way back was deemed too much of an obstacle that she opted for the bus from Dingle back to Tralee. The Lonely Planet, though generally a reliable guide, wasn’t confidence inspiring as it described the pass as “very narrow and very steep”. Also the guy working in the hostel in Dingle wasn’t helping, answering Bo’s concerns about being afraid of the Connor Pass by stating that the pass “is indeed something to be scared of”. As the weather had only grown worse this made Monday morning a decent work-out for me, battering through the rain, ascending the Connor Pass, and pounding on relentlessly on the descent in an effort to reach Tralee before Bo did – whose bus had left an hour after my take-off. The quasi-nonchalant text message I sent upon arrival said it all: “Mooi. Ik ben al in Tralee. Pasje was prima te doen” (Good, I’m already in Tralee, the pass wasn’t too hard).  

Dingle Town itself is quite the treat, with a handful of cosy pubs and many a restaurant with fresh seafood. One of the most remarkably moments occurred in Dick Mack, a store-turned-pub, where random people would start singing every so often, with the entire crowd joining in, returning to their respective conversations afterwards as if nothing had happened. Touristy but definitely Irish as well, Dingle Town is!

The loop on Sunday offered some nice but foggy views from Europe’s westernmost point, where the remnants of some thousands-year old castles can be found. The audio-video show that we watched at the remnants of the Dunbeg Promontory Fort fits in perfectly with earlier shows at the butter museum in Cork and at the rock of Cashel in Cashel. Mismatched wooden chairs, a big white wall with a projector aimed at it, a squeaky sound system, an amateur movie shot in the early nineties, and a proud hostess guiding us to the “cinema room”. This particular movie was about a lady, let’s call her Ann, who worked as a archaeologist at the ancient site. Movie begins. Camera isn’t held steady. Ann is recorded, pretending to be reading a history book. “This is Ann. She works as an archaeologist at the Promontory Fort”. Ann looks up at the camera, piercing eyes through her black rimmed glasses. Just a few seconds too long to make it awkward. Ah well, you get the picture. As the ruins had been adversely affected by last autumn’s storms we couldn’t actually visit the fortress itself, “but you can walk down the path and look at it from afar”. Well, we did walk down the path and gazed down at some stones that could hardly be discerned as being different from the dry stone walls covering the grassy hills around us. With some red tape, indicating we couldn’t go further. Time to get on the bike again!

 The views over the Blasket Islands from Slea Head were inspiring though, in spite of the wind that was increasingly picking up and preceding the heavy showers that accompanied us over the last quarter of the journey. That night we enjoyed a well-deserved rich meal at what is arguably the best fish restaurant in Dingle Town, where only the day’s catch is served and where chips are banned from the menu. Great value!

 So after a weekend of singing songs in the pub, cycling through wind and rain, lovely fish dishes and the always appreciated daily Guinness, the challenge was to get back to Dublin, with our bikes. Well, the first challenge was for Bo to get her bike on the bus she was taking to Tralee, which the bus company officially doesn’t oblige itself to if the bus is too full. Well, the bus was quite full. But here I start recognising a favourable trend among the Irish that I get more and more appreciative of. Rather than the Dutch, who generally stick to the rules blindly, I find the Irish bending the rules a bit if they can help out others. This pragmatic attitude generally gets things done if you try hard enough by just being kind and assertive. Also here Bo got herself and her bike on the bus, foregoing the additional charge the bus company usually charges. Back in Tralee I had arranged for the hostel where we stayed the first night to let me have a shower there for a fiver, another example of hospitality and pragmatism. And subsequently, off to the train station. We knew there weren’t any trains that had two bike spaces left available, but nonetheless we had to try, how else to get back home? As we assumed the person selling tickets would be a guy, Bo went up to the counter while I guarded our bikes just around the corner. As Bo took uncomfortably long I decided to have a look about 10 minutes later, only to find her looking for later trains on her phone. “She’s very surly. She says there’s no bike spaces and I have to look for other options” Bo complained. Wrong strategy. Instead of the jovial old man we had expected behind the counter, I spotted a stern looking girl, about my age. “Why don’t you look after the bikes for a while?” Bo nodded. Five minutes later the initially unyielding girl was heading off towards the platform where the train would arrive, talked to a few people including the ticket collector, walked back with resolute, determined steps, took place behind the counter again, and told me it had been arranged for. Bending the rules a little, but you need to have them on your side! Our relief for being able to board the first train back –and a direct train even, what a luxury!- was only slightly diminished by the outrageous price of €149 for the two of us and our two bikes, coming down at 68 cents per minute on board. Ah well, it only adds to the story, and you can’t have it all!

Back in Dublin I can conclude that my new Giant has proved himself a reliable partner, having withstood a few rides through the Wicklow Mountains and around Dingle peninsula without the slightest hint of discomfort. Dingle is a lovely little village, and the surrounding country side is gorgeous, but we have to go back some time, when the sun is shining!

red pants farming

A few weeks ago Bo and I spent the Sunday at the farm of Padraic’s parents. Roaming around fields lined with hedges and dry stone walls, feeding the sheep and climbing bales of hay made for a lovely morning out and about, accompanied by Lassie and Jess. After a filling brunch prepared by Padraic we settled in one of the house’s living rooms and flicked on the television to see Liverpool beat Man City and continue their road to the first PL title in 24 years. Liverpool fans all around with even Lassie barking enthusiastically when Gerrard’s corner kick made for the 2-0. A visit to the Hill of Slane on the way back to Dublin guaranteed the cultural aspect of the day and surely I’ll be back at this welcoming and cosy farm house, not in the last place to see Lassie again! 

“If you get the weather, there’s no place like it” - “We are so lucky with the weather!” - “I think Donegal is my new favourite place in Ireland”

The above pretty much summarises our experience over the past four days in county Donegal. Connected to the rest of Ireland by only a sliver of land, Donegal is often regarded as ‘different’ by most people here in Dublin. The prevailing comments however suggested that Ireland’s most north-western county is worth the 3.5 hour drive up, “if you get the weather”. As the forecast here is as reliable as an alcoholic’s vow to abstain from further drinking, I decided to ignore the hopeful whispers and ominous muttering alike, and packed the entire range from rain jacket and scarf to shorts and t-shirts. As we had the spacious Volkswagen Passat at our disposal, luggage for once wasn’t subject to the usual impediments of weight and size, and Bo and I both stowed two big bags each into the car’s trunk. Clothing for four seasons and enough food to last a week; let’s go!

At the time of writing it’s Monday evening. The weather has been cooperative to say the least with pretty much uninterrupted sunshine and more than pleasant temperatures. We have covered 800 km and seen the world. To be frank I have seen some pretty cool scenery in my life, not in the least the panoramas from four days of trekking through the Himalayas, Kerala’s jungle, Morocco’s Atlantic coast, and the holy temple mountain of Hua Shan in China. But what Donegal has to offer is really quite something spectacular and ranks among the most impressive sights and scenery I have ever got to enjoy. The interplay between wild ocean and sheer rock formation, with cliffs soaring up from the waters, only to give way to the most unperturbed and virgin beaches, and the entire absence of mass tourism make this place almost magical. Nigh everywhere we ventured there was the temptation to linger and stay longer, and many new ‘favourites’ were born. In the end it has been a hugely satisfying journey, and if anything, I know I’ll be back again, to each and every one of the places we have experienced. Well, enough of the indistinct reminiscence, let’s get down to a more tangible description in chronological order.

Day 1.

Day 1 was largely spent in the office as really it was just another day at work, bar me leaving at four in the afternoon and starting the engine of our fully equipped car at half four. The journey up took about 4 hours, but in the end I savoured my first Guiness of the weekend in one of Donegal Town’s few bars, listening to some mediocre live music, and I knew the fun had started. In what has become a cherished tradition by now, we started our journey with the cheapest half-decent  accommodation we could find, only to increase our standards gradually over the course of the trip. To be honest the bed in Donegal Town Independent Hostel made for a great night’s sleep and the shower was warm in the morning. But wait, that’s already day 2.

Day 2.

Day 2 featured an early rise that became the standard throughout our trip. However much we like sleeping in, there was simply too much to see and do. Our half an hour hike from the car park to Slieve League was dominated by roaming sheep and ominous clouds, and the views from “Europe’s highest sea cliffs” were enjoyable but not altogether much impressive. Maybe it was the weather that took away a bit of the magic, as we couldn’t even see the top of the cliffs across the sea inlet, given that these were covered in grey clouds. Luckily those were the last clouds to be seen and before Morning had conveyed its responsibilities to Afternoon we found ourselves in brilliant sunshine hiking up the hills surrounding Glencolumbcille.

The Lonely Planet was once again of invaluable help by recommending the Tower Loop, which indeed provided great views over the cliffs and Atlantic ocean from the top of the bog-covered heights. All this exercise warranted some food-related reward and not much later we indeed devoured a decent fish chowder in Ardara, a few kilometres up the coast. The small village signifies the gateway to Loughrea Peninsula, which ended up being the first place in the county that truly released our “oooh’s and aahhh’s”. Our stay at Carnaween House was a concoction of magnificent flavours, scents, sights and sounds. Based at one of Donegal’s many white beaches, our home for the night was tastefully decorated in a style that breathed “summer” and “sand” altogether. After half an hour in the lounge chairs in front of the house, by now under a radiant sun, we couldn’t resist the temptation any longer and rushed towards the sea. Iniskeel island, which can be reached on foot when the tide is low, makes for waves coming from two sides at hide tide, as it splits up the flow of water streaming in from the ocean. The result is a peculiar interplay between moving water, with waves crossing each other as they reach the shore, creating an ephemeral chessboard of blue and white.  Iniskeel island isn’t the only pearl enhancing the view from the beach however, as the horizon is dotted with tops of mountains making you want to stare in the distance for hours. With the weather being such an unexpected treat we spent all time left until dusk at the sea shore, tossing the frisbee and running through the ankle deep water, feeling more child than ever. In the end our reservation at our host’s restaurant made us leave the spoils of salt and freedom, only to take place at the best table with the best view over the bay with the best fish dish I had had in ages. A late evening stroll with a glass of the Green Spot after dinner, and off to bed, as really all we wanted to do was to be awake when the sun shone. Tucking in for the night at eleven pm on a Friday really was an easy sacrifice given the day-time bounties that lay ahead.

Day 3.

The first half of the next day wasn’t the best part of our trip, as the “scenic drives”, despite the obvious scenery that comes with them, do take up a lot of time and do not quite grant the same experience as being outside our moving prison of glass and steel. Reconfirming that position after an hour of “scenic drive” detour past holiday-home covered coast line we drove straight on to our next destination and parked the car early in the afternoon at Corcreggan Mill B&B. Amicably instructed by our host Brendan we set off towards another winning combination of exercise and sightseeing. The afternoon’s three hour hike was truly spectacular, starting off at what has become my new favourite beach (in the world) and reaching to the top of the cliffs from where the views over the ocean and the islands off the coast are breath-taking. Rolling waves crash incessantly against the rock formations that guard Ireland’s main land against the ocean’s perils and make for a spectacular sight, especially when watched from high above. Unfortunately the mapped walking loop appears to be closed these days, which forced us to climb over some fences and dodge a number of sheep to reach the main road again, only to be confronted with an angry farmer who must be telling about a dozen hikers each day to stay off his land. Not ideal. That evening we gratefully made use of the self-catering kitchen in an effort to stave off the mounting costs that come with enjoying life so thoroughly, especially given the eccentricities that lay ahead at Loch Eske Castle. My usual recipe of pasta and pesto made for a tasty evening meal, and after some reading in the hostel’s cosy common room we opted for another early night’s sleep, as we hadn’t seen the true treasure of the area yet. Horn Head.

Day 4.

Day 4 was arguably the best day. Relying again on Bo to follow through on the previous evening’s decision to rise and shine before 8 am we enjoyed a decent breakfast at the B&B and set off towards Horn Head just when most people were drowsily making their way downstairs. Even against the background of all the previous treats of the trip, even when compared with the most beautiful and impressive gifs of nature I have been given to enjoy in my life, Horn Head is AMAZING. Bliss. Pure bliss. I tell you, go there, get a day with a brilliant blue sky, go early in order to have the entire area for yourself, and soak up the immense feeling of wonder and amazement of how beautiful this world can be. Imagine yourself on the very top of the highest cliffs, with the ocean left and right, the thundering sound of crashing waves below and the quiet of the main land behind you, with the coastline and islands disappearing in the mist beyond. Seagulls soaring in the depths below, tiny spiders crawling in the moss just below your face, while you are lying flat on your belly, peeking over the edge, defying feelings of vertigo and instead soaking up the adrenaline that is rushing through your body. Need I say more?

A morning that starts so overwhelming must get a decent follow-up. How often would you soak up the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean as well as the chlorine of one of the country’s best spas in one day? Not often. As we hadn’t been properly equipped to pay homage to my new favourite beach upon discovery the previous day, Bo and I decided to nibble at some of the day’s available time to get some early spring swimming under our belt. The water was freezing and the current pulling us away from the beach surprisingly strong, but the twenty-odd seconds in the water were an experience well worth it. More running and splashing through shallow waters, wearily observed by hikers in jeans and sweaters, and back to the car for the afternoon programme, off to Loch Eske.

The last night of our trip was responsible for about half the entire journey’s expenses. The reason why was well worth it however. As we were told by Rachel, our chatty and attentive waitress over dinner, Loch Eske Castle was all ruins from an 18^th century sacking from which the former times’ stronghold never recovered... until six years ago, when the entire castle was rebuilt in the old style. When Michael, the butler, opened the oak wooden doors to our room for the night, there was no need to look at Bo to know that she was thinking the exact same as I was. I had never stayed in such a luxurious place before. Apart from the hotel room and all that it entailed (we guestimated that it was bigger than Bo’s former apartment in The Hague), the castle grounds boast a luxurious spa and top notch restaurant. Furthermore there are numerous lounge rooms decorated with oak wood tables, plush chairs, walls covered with shells full of books, ornate mirrors, soft carpets, huge paintings in gilded frames, elegant side tables, thick curtains, wooden panels covering the walls, open fires burning in the hearths… all you need and more to pick up a book and soak up the atmosphere around you. Breakfast was delicious and filling, dinner even better with oysters and lamb. The 21 hours we spent on the grounds were the 21 most lavish hours of my life, and are well worth the upcoming week of living off white rice and uncooked beans to make this month's budget close.

The weather - what else

It’s a dark and dreary day in Dublin and incessant drizzle has engulfed the city, affecting all who venture outdoors like a contagious disease.  Thick clouds hovering close to chimneys and roofs make that dusk seems imminent shortly after I leave the office, as if the clock has been turned an hour back rather than ahead last Saturday. It’s an evening to go home swiftly and bolt the front door for the night, as surely one would not leave the warmth and safety that comes with being at home. Sitting in my favourite couch at the window facing the streets, I see the fog and gloom ominously pressing against the glass, as if attempting to intrude my safe haven. It’s the perfect night for writing a blog post.

Luckily murky weather as this goes as quickly as it comes and tomorrow could be a whole different day. In fact, singling out some standalone moments over the past week I may as well have imagined myself being in the Mediterranean. Our weekly Tuesday afternoon football sessions don’t get any better than yesterday’s, with a brilliant blue sky and radiant sunshine blessing our small-time endeavours. And also last Sunday, hiking around the Howth peninsula in a t-shirt, climbing rocks and walking past large estates with gorgeous sea-views, flashbacks of a similar saunter in Capri (summer 2008) were not altogether inappropriate. The sniffing and running nose that I have entertained my colleagues with today are the keepsake of the first frisbeeing of the season yesterday evening. Having enjoyed such a gorgeous midday escape from the office, and still not quite having learnt my lesson when it comes to the whimsicality of the Irish weather, I convinced Bo to go to the beach after work to release some of the impatience of being locked up in an office for too many hours a week. Sniffing or no sniffing, I did enjoy the hour or so spent on soggy sand tremendously, running and jumping around in efforts to catch the orange frisbee carried on the Eastern sea winds. And how better to follow up on such delights than to watch a Champions League quarter final match in one of Dublin’s countless pubs, while savouring a pint of Carlsberg and filling the stomach with fried cod and chips. As such staying in tonight is really quite the exception, as also Saturday, despite slightly less encouraging weather, Mark and I braved the elements and set off on an afternoon of playing golf at Elm Green. Again our perseverance and good faith got rewarded with some hours void of any rain and a rather empty golf course. The treat we rewarded ourselves with afterwards may sound rather familiar by now but I assure you that pub food and a pint of draught in combination with a decent football match on a big screen never gets boring!