Friday, eve of Saturday, and after a jolly Irish time in a Irish pub drinking irssafh…isari…irsah…irsh… Irish cider; no wait – it was Swedish cider, and I’ve managed to find my way home. Admittedly the fact that the taxi stopped right at my doorstep might make that accomplishment less of a… accomplishment, per say, but no matter! Hom, slightly tipsy and talkative. That’s the only thing important. Currenclty. Perhaps.
Really? You are in Ireland, and you’re drinking cider? Really? Really really?
It’s not my fault okay! I just can’t stomach beer, regardless of brand. It’s a preexisting condition! Don’t jtudge me!