There is a pub two doors down from where I am staying, which I ventured into yesterday. A proper Irish place, promoting not live World Cup but live Gaelic football. The barman strolls over to me: "What tickles your fancy?"This question was made all the more funny by the lad's scruffy countenance and three day old shiner. I began to imagine a bare-knuckle boxing match, horses milling about in the background...though he probably got it in a karate class, or being mugged (is nothing sacred anymore?)
I settled down to try to read Nietzsche and Philosophy over the blaring folk music. It wasn't difficult.
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