All things past

When that car was first registered in Ireland, the beautiful grape juice that had been miraculously squeezed into that bottle of Chateau La Fleur Pétrus had already been working its magic for a full year. Beginning a long maturation process that poor storage conditions would not totally manage to ruin.
We opened it today.
Pépé had 2 sparklers on his pile of pancakes, one for every 33 years.
He is a happy man, he proudly showed off his travel pass and the kids got to sing Happy Birthday, their all-time favourite song in the whole wide world.
Today was definitely a day infused with the frighteningly vivid images, sounds and voices of the past. In a beautifully bitter-sweet sort of way.
21st birthday parties of times long gone were relived.
Marie Keane was back on stage at the Peacock Theatre, for that performance of Happy Days (Beckett's, not Fonzie's).
Hollybank Road was once more full of parties.
Old neighbourhood scandals were brought back to life. Botched match-making arrangements, memorable dates and purposeful networking were mentioned in secretive tones.
Old Dublin was brought back to life one more time. Some of the stories were new. A lot of them weren't, but they sound just as good each time, probably better, because one never loses the childish merriment of hearing the expected word at the expected moment.
Pépé is the pastsmith.