Yesterday in Dublin, protestors demonstrated outside of the US embassy, calling for justice for George Floyd. Watching footage of US riots on telly, the mother-in-law commented, “Why shouldn’t they? Didn’t you see the video of that poor man dying?”

On Saturday we sat outside drinking beer and reminiscing about the father-in-law. The heat made us languid, even as the midges ate us alive. We guffawed at a local publican, delivering lukewarm takeaway beer in plastic smoothie cups to punters in the countryside. That night I got an email from the publisher, saying my essay was online--thanks for your kind messages. The next day, I was hungover, ropey as fuck, my feelings--happiness and sorrow and rage--all jumbled together.

Today I did yoga, for the first time in months.

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