Back in the south of Ireland for the first time in ten years, and the most remarkable thing was the weather: days of bright sunshine. At home so much rain fell, for so long, that across town a store roof collapsed under the weight of the water.
Dublin was busy but jovial; thousands of tourists had put up post-its in support of the abortion vote; the RHA summer show was superb; hen parties were squealing in Temple Bar. Out of town, the roads were a world away from what they were twenty years ago, all sleek dual carriageways in embankments. We covered the ground in half the time it used to take, without a pothole in sight.
When I lived in Ireland I was constantly broke, frequently lonely, often miserable. It ended badly and although I went back a few times to visit friends, as they too moved on I just stopped going, and it never occurred to me that I might miss it. This time I was surprised to find I almost did, although that might just have been the sunshine. And the chips.
Mostly painting