Last week we went to Galway because the husband had a medical appointment. (Due to covid restrictions, we can't leave beyond 5 km of our home except for essential reasons.) We took the mother-in-law's car - in the cupholder there was a wee bottle of holy water from Knock, nearly mistaken for hand sanitiser, and a St. Anthony's medal for protection. Beside the sea, I met some friends for a socially distanced takeaway coffee, chatting away in a playground while their children played, squealing, so blithe to the present state of the world. Only a few summers ago, none of us had children, and we'd go to the Prom after yoga, where they'd swim and I'd watch from the shore as they'd emerge from the sea, dripping and ecstatic. Of course the city was different: all the pubs and most shops were closed, and the streets were nigh empty. Still, one valiant busker plucked away at his guitar strings, surrounded by a few onlookers. Later the husband and I bought fancy chocolates, cheese, cherries, makeup and whatever else we couldn't get in our small town, and ate a takeaway in the carpark, before heading home.

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