Seven bottles of wine on the floor.
The Indian man in the Londis on Clanbrassil Street who always says 'how's it going' in a brassy Dublin accent.
Me, blank screen staring, for fifteen illicit minutes during Bank Holiday Monday. Not even hungover. Just not giving a fuck.
Talking to a 60-something woman with a lived-in face about The National and music in general.
Taking a different walk to work on differing days of the week.
Staring at the ceiling on a day off, and not bothering to care until much later on.
The red result of a forgotten pair of swimming trunks, and outside hot-tub sitting in Meath.
Realising it had been over a week since a blog, and not bothering to care until much later on.
The goat's cheese trial going well.
Telling the story of a 'dopp' and not really claiming it as my own.
Not being too sure if it should be goat's cheese, goats cheese or goats' cheese, and the loss of my perspicacity.