It's happening in the bay, and she's watching.
Me too I guess. I did not linger though. The stench of the rotting black seaweed was quite in your face. Or your nostrils to be more precise.
Instead I collected my bike and sped back home, cooked, fed the tribe, got back on my bike and headed to White Rock for a nightfall swim. The sea was so incredibly calm, not a ripple. And warm. I swam for a long time, unencumbered by pesky apparels of swimwear. It was gorgeous. And very quiet once you walk more than 50 meters away from the bottom of the steps.
Meanwhile, the Vico was heaving. I have been avoiding the place for a while now. Way too packed. Way too loud. And the stench of urine does not help. Pity, that used to be a good spot.
As I cycled back home, the Gardai were at the bottom of the Vico Rd, trying to entangle some of the huge traffic mess that had built up there. The resident millionaires must be oh so ecstatic. And not cursing Matt Damon, and social media, or the plebs's access to motor vehicles.