Donaghadee day

A brisk walk along the seafront, a look down into grannies' corner, sloppy slope-sided castles on the beach. A "99" from The Cabin, three times around the lighthouse (anti-clockwise) for luck, a pint or two in Grace Neil's, perhaps then fish & chips, with salt and just a little too much vinegar, wrapped in last week's "Ireland's Saturday Night".

The train back home, the sweep of the lighthouse lamp catching the crinkly glass of the window, and on via Newtownards. Passing under rocky Scrabo, through Comber and then on to Belfast, and home. But first letting down the carriage window using the creased thick leather strap, releasing the half-mangled hole from the wee brass stubby stud, and sticking yer head out into the sooty smoke drifting back from the engine, the swaying rattle over the points at Dundonald, the red sky in the west a harbinger of yet another fine day tomorrow.

Through the chill linen night to tomorrow. Maybe then Portrush, and High Tea in the Northern Counties. And thereafter a wee gin.

No troubles yet.