the stories are nicer than this.

 Arriving at the concert venue yesterday realised that this was an event for old age pensioners. Musicians would play excerpts from the sound track of a music film from Dublin and then show the film. The film was made in the eighties, and all the romantic Hibernophile Germans from that time would be there swinging the aged hips, going all wet-eyed and some clapping in time.

NO. Turn around and leave. They were not going to pay a cent for the work anyway, they would have most likely charged admission just to add insult to injury. They are all pretty good musicians, but the venue in a baking hot beer garden with rows of people queuing up for beer and something roasting on the grill was too much. Turn away with a commencing headache.

Enjoy a glass of beer in a quiet place at the side of the street.

Then go home, go home to forget the difficulties.

This morning is cool, and wake up early. It is a quiet Sunday morning, the neighbours have not started to shout at each other yet. The cat comes up to let herself be stroked, then go down to make breakfast.

The family is asleep, apart from the cat.

Upstairs, later on, hear that the wife or the son are moving about, slamming doors, clattering in the kitchen, but it is not possible to hear what they are doing. Not a word is spoken. Various stories tell other things about family life, and the stories are nicer than this.