At present I am living in one of Dublin's many hostels, I share a dormitory with three other women, a passing parade of nationalities who are all very kind to me because of my great age. There were the two French girls who have the same baptismal names as two of my grand daughters, Rosemary whose broad Irish brogue makes her harder to understand than Livia, the Brazilian girl currently in one of the top bunks.
The hostel is clean and safe but the plumbing is dire, especially the showers where one cowers in a corner and punches a button which sends a torrent of ice cold water everywhere, including the dry towel rail. Just as the water becomes bearable it all shuts off. I endure this because the staff,Brazillian, Spanish, French and Moroccan are outstanding.
BUT THE INTERNET ACCESS IS HOPELESS. My in box is full of messages from Kaye in Darwin, Jan in Temuka,Stu in Chipping Sodbury and when I try to download them I get a message rhat something seems to be wrong etc. Worse than that, I am supposed to send and receive chapters of work from the novel writing course I am mainly here for.Last Tuesday, after a week of trying to send text and getting a 'we are sorry connection appears to be broken'I took my lap top across town, sorely termpted to toss it into the Liffey as I crossed. A technician in Moor Street said it was a virus which he could clean out for 40 euros.
At the Irish Writers Centre in Parnell Square I logged on, downloaded my e mails, sent the homework I was expected to share with the novel writing group, Everything worked perfectly.
So Kaye, Jan, Terry, Stu, Lesley Tammara in Israel and everybody, as well hunting for Vogel's bread,which Mimi tells me is available in Dublin (not in Camden Street Tescos though) I shall lug my laptop across town on a 19A bus and read and answer your e mails.
That is after I have braved the shower.