Speis

I woke up this morning feeling great. Setting your alarm for 9am on a weekday pretty much guarantees that. I sang along with the radio while I buttered my toast, I performed complicated acrobatics putting on my t-shirt, I put a big double knot in my laces. Birds flying high, you know how I feel, sun in the sky you know how I feel, and I'm feeling goo-

Oh wait, it's lashing rain. Arse.

I hopped on the bus and had all sorts of uncomfortable bodily collisions with wet and grumpy strangers. I pushed the bell, leapt out of the double doors and inhaled a great gust of fresh air. It was still raining, with that slow, deliberate determination that Irish raindrops have.
"Complain all ye loike, bud, we can keep this up all bleedin day." Irish rain has the same work ethic as those council workers you see leaning on their spades, harassing pigeons.

I spent the morning in the National Library, cricking my neck and taking notes on a newspaper from a million years ago. (Declan was there. I urged him to keep the faith while jumping out the exit.)

I needed food. No simple sandwich or cheerful chips would satisfy this gasping hunger, I needed pancakes. No, more, I needed a crepe. I headed for Lemon on Dawson, wondering just how much bacon one stomach could digest before dissolving. I bumped into the queue while I was still on the opposite side of the street.

New plan, genius.

I crossed Grafton Street and plunged into the dark maze of streets that cling to Dublin's main shopping thoroughfare like feeder fish on great whites. It was here, nestled in the foul bosom, that I found the original Lemon Crepe shop.

Q?

There was none. I muttered a prayer, hit send and watched it soar skyward. I ordered the Tuna Fest, thinking that the fish would get my brain working. The cashier took my order. I wasn't paying attention, I was looking at a guy standing by the till in a bandana. Someone had written in biro upside down on his forehead. It was peaking out from his headwear shyly.

He caught my eye? 'Anything else?'
No thanks. (and by the way, who scribbled on your face?)

He walked right up to me and looked me in the eye. (he was tall).

'You don't recognise me, do you David?'

It's my oldest friend in the world. I haven't seen him in 6 years. His massive grin reflects mine.

I love this wet city.