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DRAFT

A Special Day in Dublin (and in Trousers)

Today is kind of a special day, though the reasons come in no particular order. First, we’re heading off to Dublin early this afternoon. Second, it also happens to be our 49th wedding anniversary — a milestone that apparently comes with no official “traditional gift.” (Perhaps the experts just gave up after 48 years and thought, “If they’ve lasted this long, they probably don’t need any more suggestions.”)

But possibly the most significant event of all: I have decided to wear long trousers.

Yes, for the first time in four months, the shorts are being retired in favour of something that actually covers my knees. The Irish weather report hinted at “cooler conditions,” which in plain language means, “You might freeze if you don’t put some proper clothes on.” There’s even a chance socks will be involved. Socks! Imagine that.

This wardrobe shift is, of course, the ultimate seasonal marker. The calendar may insist we still have three weeks of summer left, but trousers (and socks) tell a different story. They whisper softly, “Winter is coming…” and not even Dublin’s Guinness can argue with that.

So here we go: off to Dublin, celebrating 49 years together, armed with long trousers and the possibility of socks. Not a bad way to mark a “special” day, after all.

Flight FR1975 from CCF to DUB began with the usual Ryanair special: a 45-minute delay wrapped in a cheerful “on-time” promise. Silver lining? No one in the middle seat. Now, before you imagine first-class luxury, let’s be clear—this is Ryanair. “Spreading out” merely means I can pick up my drink without elbow-wrestling a stranger.

Speaking of drinks, Ryanair has modernized the concept of “duty free” by letting you order gin & tonics online before takeoff.

Our two were delivered with military efficiency the moment the seatbelt sign pinged off. Sadly, what arrived was less “gin & tonic” and more “junior apprentice potion”—a weak, pre-mixed beverage pretending to be the real deal. But, having been sober for over two months, perhaps it was a gentle (and merciful) reintroduction to the world of alcohol. I struggled to finish it, which I hope won’t be the case later in Dublin. Tonight, I plan to make up for lost time with Guinness and whisky chasers.

We touched down in Dublin with the usual Ryanair flourish—cheap, cheerful, and vaguely uncomfortable. The walk from the gate to the taxi rank felt like a marathon, but eventually we were whisked into town, landing at our accommodation with the spectacularly suspicious name: Tom Dick and Harriet’s. For €175 a night, one might expect at least a dash of luxury. Instead, we got “perfectly acceptable.” But no matter—this isn’t a night for sitting in rooms.

Our friends Chris and Julia were already settled next door, so off we went in search of a pub. I had barely put a dent in my first Guinness when Acki and Sylvia, freshly arrived from Germany, burst through the door. Reunion complete, the pints began to flow.

Later, in pursuit of food (and balance), we wandered towards the Liffey and found a restaurant serving up hearty Irish fare. I went classic: beef stew with yet another Guinness for company. Walking back, we stumbled across a welcoming pub, and it seemed rude not to stop for a double Jameson nightcap.

And so, my first day drinking in months, and our 49th anniversary, ended in proper Irish style: full stomach, happy company, and a head pleasantly spinning. Tomorrow—Belfast awaits.

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