It’s half past two (local time), I finished both my beer and my book (the only one I brought), and my foot is bleeding like an pig that’s being slaughtered in some freakishly weird religious ceremony. (Actually, a scab came loose and it bled a bit so I applied a band-aid.) Or, in other words, even when I’m abroad I don’t got much to write home about.

The flight was uneventful, the bus trip to the city was uneventful, the hotel was just a stroll up the block, and it seems decent enough. Walked around Dublin a bit, and I’m not quite sure what to think of it yet, apart that the traffic lights take ages to switch to green and that there are a lot of cars. Had dinner (the beef & Guinness stew was nice) and went to see The Hangover, which is totally awesome, although I suspect it works better in a full theater then it would sitting on the couch at home.

Oíche mhaith.