As part of my attempt to get fitter following my strenuous holiday, I walked to the pub yesterday. All 4.5 miles. E was still in London and her last words to me before I set off were "take a brolly". Needless to say, I ignored this sage advice. Halfway up the lane the heavens opened and I was soaked though. I arrived at the pub like a drowned rat. The landlady kindly went and fetched a proper towel for me - the paper towels in the loo wouldn't have cut it at all - and then, with a soaked shirt and a coiffure like the Hair Bear Bunch on a bad day, I sat quietly steaming.
All this was forgotten though as the company arrived and the ale flowed. Soon I was dry outside and wet inside. It rained going back down the lane too, but by then, I didn't care!
Next! - I've been writing about the Irish Craft Beer Festival at the RDS all this week, but before we tumble headlong into the rest of September's festivals (four ...
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