Listen to the thunder and pay no heed

Those first trips down — ‘82 and ‘85 — I travelled without pressure. No big calls to make. That was the oul fella. Or maybe the uncle, if he’d landed first from Dublin. Go by Limerick and the cursing wouldn’t start until Charleville.

Or chance Cashel and forget what Fermoy was like the last time.

They’re both gone. So my own boss. These days, I’d stroll over by Blackrock, but for some kind of makeshift reconstruction, I park in town and make the long walk down.