I woke up this morning at 6:45 feeling miserable and wanting nothing else in the world but hot milk.
Hot milk is high up there on the list of my favourite drinks. It's the only reason I would ever consider buying a microwave. I love hot milk and hot milk loves me back. Hot hot hot. Yum yum yum.
I drank all the milk I had at home, about half a cup, and realised that it didn't quench my hot milk thirst, so I dressed up, grabbed the keys and some change and went to buy some milk. I bounced off of closed doors of the nearest shop, so I went around to the next one. As I was walking I was passed by the bread man's truck. I heard it stop around the corner so I was sure the shop would be open.
I walked in before the bread man, just as the owner of the shop was unwrapping the newspaper; you really can't get the newspaper any fresher, so I got some of it and some milk.
Upon walking out with a litre of my beloved milk I decided to go to the sea front for a short while. I thought it was strange that there was a pile of milk cartons left at the door of a local amusement centre, but I guess all the shady milk thieves would be asleep at this hour.
I got to the sea front in few seconds; It was breathtakingly beautiful. There was hardly anyone there, the sea was flat as a pancake, shimmering softly under the sun. A couple of elderly men who were walking past me discussing politics, smiled at me as if we were sharing some personal joke. The Bray Head looked as if the earth itself moved closer to the sea and the sky just to have a look - or perhaps to have it's mossy skin warmed by the sun. I sat down mesmerised and looked at all that, thinking. How could anyone not fall in love in Ireland?
If it wouldn't be this cold I would have probably gone for a swim, but instead I went back home to have my hot milk. I curled up on a couch with a hot-hot cup and switched on the TV. There was Star Trek on.
This is going to be a good day.