Under 24 Hours...

The Final Countdown is officially on.

All the makings of a classic day here, as the Old Triangle's first musicians are set to take the stage at 8AM. How I look forward to the music, the easy conviviality of the atmosphere, the fleeting acquaintances, the toasts, the odes, the poetry of Kavanaugh and quotes of Behan - and how time seems to linger immaterial on such a day.

The first trip to Dublin in 2000 - up to which point I had barely sipped a Guinness - will always stand out as the most wondrous. Yet, as each subsequent year is a tribute to it, those memories never lose their lustre. Last year's classic return (a major motivator for the studies abroad, to be sure) was magical in its own right. 5 years had passed, as the poet wrote, and once again we heard and did behold... New faces, new stories... but felt that same satisfaction of not wanting to be anywhere else, of sensing (if only momentarily) that indeed you are living your own life right. The picture below, with the Palace's Beckett portrait watching over us, a solid 12 hours in, captures the sentiment of (let's face it) the smugness rather well:

Back after the weekend with stories and songs of the escapades. As I counselled last year at this time, "Sink back the Guinness, sing along to the chorus of Black Velvet Band, and buy the stranger beside you a pint." Amen to that. Happy Saint Patrick's.