Our third morning in Dublin dawned as sunny as those prior.
I sat by my bag bemoaning my lack of temperate clothes (a jacket and 4 jerseys? useless. 2 spring weight tops? already worn. damnitall) while Craig looked at the map. And realised that (surprise!) we’d been walking the long way into the centre of Dublin so far.
They decided against “The Ring of Death House” and “The Ring of Infidelity House”
A … Saint. Probably Patrick.
(don’t worry. We gave him euros as well)
She died of a fever, and no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone,
Now her ghost wheels her barrow, though the streets broad and narrow,
crying “cockles and mussells, alive, alive-o
My mother used to sing this to me at night when I was a child and trying to get to sleep. A ghost story.
She sang a ghost story to me every night and now marvels at how morbid I am.
I fail to see the resemblence.
Crossing Stephens, that is my green
We sat in St Stephen’s Green for quite some time. Watching about 1/3 of Dublin who were also there, walking and sitting in the verdure while the leaves changed colour around us.