Diary

Cold artic winds. Rain. Skies all bleak and grey. But window-shopping in Dublin demands a festive mood. And why not. Gypsy ladies whisper secret fortunes near Temple Bar. The older Romany men wear weather-beaten faces and drum up equal attention with the lure of forgotten Latin tunes played on accordians, percussion instruments and the acoustic guitar. Bustling crowds at sidewalk cafes. Who wouldn't care for a steamy cuppa after all? Office executives, talking on the pavements while snatcing a quick smoke. An ambulance going to somewhere. Garda with their blaring police sirens going to somewhere. The fire engine going to somewhere.
I remember London.
Tired with shopping, people lean against the many display windows for small chat. I must have walked for hours along the Jervis & O' Connell streets, my smile evident to all. So gallant was my mood though I admit to having felt unwell.
Then I had wandered into shoe shops, toy shops, book shops, cafes, the post office, department stores with petulant gazing and careful planning for what I'd like to buy on the weekend. I had inspected lipsticks, soaps, boots and sweaters. The Christmas decorations are all up now. Should I be the first to send out cards?
The city is equivalent in atmosphere and mood to Sydney's shopping district on Darling harbour. An exact air of congeniality and family jocularity prevails. Clanging trams, chiming clocks and peeling church bells all at once. Is it possible to be blissful in the immediacy of a moment with an armful of simple things? If so, then somewhere along the way, I with the traveller's heart, have already made mine.