We’re in Ireland. I think it’s Ireland. They told us it’s Ireland and it’s full of Irish, but the sun’s shining so I’m not sure. Clouds have been suspiciously absent the last couple of days and it’s warm. Warm!
People are going around topless and witless, out of their senses due to the unseasonably summery summer in Ireland so far. Everyone’s talking about the weather, there are even warnings about “the unusual summer weather” on the news.
“A blue sky! It’s even blue at night,” said one aul’ wan to another as they were walking along, as if the other couldn’t lift her eyes and gaze at the wondrous blue sky too.
Even the young lad can’t believe it.
“It not raining,” he says, over and over.
Fellas are baring their bellies so they can be sunburnt too and girls who shouldn’t wear bellytops are wearing bellytops. It’s belly disconcerting.
My cousin doesn’t think she’ll survive unless normal service (rain) resumes soon.
But we’re making the most of it, catching up on old pals too good to let slide, frolicking in the sea yesterday, traipsing around the zoo today, looking at the animals who can’t believe they’re in Ireland either.
Summer’s in Ireland. Something’s not quite right.