The snug in Kehoes, a dangerous place. I'm sure it had a red light back in the day, which records show was 1998. It's been replaced with a standard and sickly yellow hue but it's all the better for drinking in. And drinking in. And drinking in again.
The folly of it, following up Tuesday night pints with Wednesday day beers and nervously introducing the Thurles lad and his belle to the cat's mother. Good craic, mind you.
It needed to be worth it, given this morning's early start and the shaping of eager young minds.
This is me, mildly broken on the couch amid rememberings of slaggings and couch talk, writing my little addled mind off before another trek out into October and all its useless beauty.
Logs off. Steels self.