there's a particular smell a second-hand bookshop gets in october — wet coats, old paper, and the heater that only works when it feels like it. honestly wouldn't change it.

tuesday nights are session nights anyway: i pack the fiddle into its case at closing time and leg it down to the pub where the same seven musicians have been playing the same reels for twenty years. i am the eighth, and the least good, but they let me stay anyway. fair play to them.

anyway — hello! aoife from dublin. a friend mentioned this little community and it looked grand, so here i am.