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The rain came hammering down. One of those showers that seems personal, as if it really wants to drench you. It did.
I remember what Billy Connolly said, that there isn’t bad weather, only wrong clothes. Give him six months in Galway, see what he’d say then. I got on the bus and barely found a seat, it was so crowded. Sat by a window and tried to figure what was different. Irish. Everybody was speaking it. I heard a flurry of,
“An bhfuil tú go maith?”
“Cén chaoi bhfuil tú?”
“Tá an aimsir go dona.”
My favourite was from a young man who answered one of the above with,
“Tá scéilín agam.”
He’d a story to tell. The translation doesn’t do justice to the emphasis he laid on “scéilín”. Combining intrigue, pleasure, excitement and the low cunning of renown. I’d like to have heard that st
