I walk through walls/I float down the Liffey

I went to Dublin for my 30th birthday. My girlfriend booked it as a surprise, which I managed to blow when I suggested we go there for a weekend while I was back for the summer. Nice place. We ate ttraditional Irish boxty; potato pancakes. Mine had a steak in it. I could have eaten there twice a day for the whole 3 days.

Drank a lot of Guinness. It does taste better there. Still tastes like you're rinsing out dry coffee granules with a sodden barcloth, but it was better. Went to a park, saw Oscar Wilde lounging on a rock, saw two huge rats.

We visited James Joyce's house. Or at least a house dedicated to Joyce, with an explanation of his opus Ulysses and such. He's looking a bit pale of late.

My girlfriend and I also had a row and quickly buried it. Which played it's part in a much bigger row which would unfold itself a few days later and is yet to be concluded. It's too early for a post mortem, too late for hindsight. I may come back to this or I may just sweep it under the covers and go back to moaning about my job.

So yeah, Dublin. I wouldn't recommend going on a weekend. We were leaving Friday evening and by 4pm it was a different city. Distinctly more cunts. But the biggest one was just about to leave... *

* It was me.