St Patrick's

A short night haunted by dreams of people dying (why?), but the morning I woke up to was bright with that Irish Sea light you get on sunny Down days.
I toasted wheaten bread for breakfast as a way of reliving old Glenview mornings and waited for wee Tierna to arrive.  She turned up complaining about her sweaty hands which she blamed on being nervous.  I told her not to be daft tart and gave her a big hug.  She apologised as she handed me a little, silver angel pin, saying it came from the Wee Shop For Catholic People, but it would protect me on my travels.  I pinned it to me and gave her another hug.
South Armagh was beautiful in the sun.  We drank tea with Eileen and Tommy then headed back into town where I found myself hobbling (for the second time in two days) behind the young people around the Buttercrane shops, before they pulled the shutters down and kicked us out. 
We had 45 minutes to kill before Tierna's bus left for Silverbridge.  It was dark and cold and the only place that was open was the Cathedral.  And what a cathedral; discreet radiators run along the lengths of it's cruciform walls, Bysantine mosaics cover the walls, there is barely a plaster saint in sight and the lighting is gentle and stilling.
We stayed until the last moment and shuffled out and down to the canal where I had a bit of craic with Our Geard, before popping the siblings on the bus and heading back for bagels and an orgy of How I met your Mother.