Colonial hangover ...

... in the sense that it's a hangover from colonial times, not that I'm suffering from a hangover of colonial proportions. This letterbox is in a wall beside Mitchells wine shop in Glasthule. I'd gone over to Carl's place after the music session in readiness for the imminent arrival of our friends from Bray. We went to the Martello restaurant on the sea front in Dún Laoghaire and sampled their early bird menu. Our meal was excellent all round, though service fell away a bit towards the end and my kidneys starter could have been cooked a bit more. Drinks in Fitzgerald's pub and in Carl's afterwards rounded the night off in good style, and the whole night turned out to be hugely enjoyable.

It was after midnight when the lads got a taxi home, but still before the clock officially changed. Carl and I stayed up chatting, half thinking that we might survive to watch the Australian Grand Prix live, with coverage beginning at 6.00 am. As it happened, Carl wimped out, but I stuck in the there, watched the race, and only got to bed at 8.30. It was an exciting race, full of incident. A great start to the season for new kids on the block Brawn GP, but a disastrous start for Ferrari.