Diary

This morning, I wake up to poetry being recited on a web video. Someone is listening to a poet and I too, try to turn the engaging audience but with little success. I think sinfully of hot coffee, longing for its aroma and sweetness . I think of how my life has changed miraclously; that I would now wake up to poetry.

A lingering intangible gift surely.

I stifle my yawns, close my eyes once more and soak in the moment.

It is a beautiful winter's day. The sun bathes the city with a soft golden light even while it is cold and the autumn leaves have long died. Did you know that it rained softly yesterday, teasing the Leffey River with playful ripples and confusing the surprised gulls that attempted majestic swoops?

Then I had stood in the open-air market square in the middle of Temple Bar, with a few other bookworms, choosing ancient reads. They reminded me of my father's library as a young man. It was all very exciting. Choosing reads in the rain while others sipped coffee and ate cake at stylish sidewalk cafes and watched us with open interest.

The bespectacled bookseller was pleasant but could not define why one slim paperback would cost 2 euro and another slimmer version, 10 quid. "Well, it did come all the way from South Africa," he says helpfully. "Tell me more history," I plead. My conscience insists I justify a lighter wallet. Besiides, I really like the old Irish poems that cost a tenner.

"Would you prefer a bag," he asks, smiling. He looks amused and his voice is consoling. I say, no with something of a petulant sulk. He's been coming for years to the market square, a friend tells me. Indeed, he does very well. In the end, I buy both books. The other is a work of non-fiction and discusses the anatomy of what makes a villian.

I am suddenly hungry and run along the smooth shuny pavements, that are fairly crowded with West European tourists. I stop at the Cafe Aroma which is my favourite decorative cafe, for scrambled eggs and toast and a hot chocolate. It offers a warm intimate atmosphere, fried eggs that are fluffy, soft and delicious on the sense and is a good corner to ruffle up the odd daydream.

Customer service in Dublin stays by my travelling experience, one of the friendliest and classiest in the world. The sales staff in many places are always smiling and very polite.

I spend all day, in the city and forget that it is already dark. Afterwards, the tram takes me straight to my doorstep.

Later, I will read newspapers and magazines. I will write. A story I started out rather vaguely as a matter of discipline as I had assured myself is starting to take shape. But it is not the kind of story that any agent would be interested in. It is not mainstream fiction but alternative. I don't even recognise my new writing voice but I like it. I decide to keep on.

Today, I inspect the south side of Dublin, next to Trinity College and just as literary with its bookstores and numerous cafes. They stand in harmony with card shops and designer boutiques.. But I'll leave today for another time. Once more, the sun calls me to come out to play. And isn't life just so short.