Pier

Pier Steps

Two years after my mother died, my father fell in love with a glamorous blonde Ukranian divorcee.

Another novel, maybe easier to guess?

We walked along the sea front and pier in Dun Laoghaire where the early morning skies were clear but for contrails pointing out the southeast emigration routes, the chill air still, the sea calm, its oil-like surface ideal for escape by jet foil. A starfish passed over us, in the beak of a herring gull.

Oddly enough, there were very few people out taking advantage of the break in the rain. Perhaps we have lost confidence in our weather forecasters, as we have lost in confidence in authority and leadership generally.

Forget suspending your disbelief in the novel, read the current Vanity Fair on Ireland.