Starts at the snot green sea of the 40 Foot, too. I joined my Dad for his morning swim.
The water, fresh. Always the warmest in September. Look out for jellyfish. They’re the dangerous ones. Will we swim over here? Oh the light this morning is only gorgeous. A man, his fat keeps him buoyant in the water. The salt is good for his swollen skin. He greets everyone. A girl arrives in her dressing gown. Great way to start the morning. Eloquent trio sit on the rocks. Accents accents everywhere. Give the dog a rub on the way out. Pick up a few bits of litter. Keep the place clean. Should really get another bin down there. Who collects the bins? Follow a young dad out after his uniformed twin girls. Do you remember being that small? I do. You used to tackle me every morning with the hair brush. They must have watched their dad swim before school. How nice. Back in the house. Porridge, espresso. You don’t get Weetabix in Switzerland. Let’s have some o that. No bag. Got pockets. Walk out. Spring in your step. That stretch of road. Peoples’ Park closed. Construction. A money suction. The Teddy’s junction. A woman lets her child press the button. His plastic motorbike is lifted with his chubby legs. Past Scrumdiddly’s. Not open yet. Into Monkstown and the smell of Avoca beckons. Poulet Bonne Femme. J’ai faim. A man holds open the door. Thank you. My pleasure. The accent. Blackrock. New café. Good coffee smells. Through the park. Empty. Booterstown. Sandymount. A young man sits with his mother on a bench. Flasks in their hands and a Marks and Spencers cake between them. Eating out of the box in the sun. Bliss. A shock of red hair on the beach. Parents pour sand on their child’s feet. She giggles. Her wheelchair rests on the walkway above them. Women in tight lycra jog along the beach. Wiggle wiggle wiggle. Joan River’s voice on the radio. People only regret the things they didn’t do. If they did them, at least they tried. Through the GAA pitch there. Hop over a fence. Along by the toll bridge. A Romanian man in a hi-vis vest cycles along with his wife on the handlebars. They topple this way and that. I think of her falling over the wall into the allotments. Who knew there were such beautiful allotments there. Since when is the o2 called 3? What’s the point? Ba dum dum. The bridge is raised. Dublin Bay tours cruises by. What to do for this waiting time? Stretch. Over the bridge. Meet an old train. Walk along by the water. Old woman crossing the road. They look comfortable. My shoes. Where from? Spain. Asics. Great for walking! I’ve just walked from Dalkey. She doesn’t really care. I’ve got varicose veins, she says. The lights are still red. She crosses. I wait. Old women are pretty reckless. Great big thumbs up from a Nigerian man. It’s like he knows of my voyage. Keeps looking back to salute me. Thanks for the encouragement. Arrive at my Nana’s. Kettle’s on. What’s this? 2 sausage, 2 rasher, 4 pudding, two black two white, a fried egg from the cousins’ farm, award winning brown bread, soft butter, break the surface of the marmalade. Tropicana. Good to be home.
moll.ie 