Dublin airport at five in the morning...
One immigration official to check a plane-load of foreign passports. The man in front of me remarks that all the empty security booths remind him of a derelict race-course, except there is no one to say, "and they're off". Because, of course, we aren't off. We just stand around on the pasture of polished terrazzo, snorting and stamping to keep the circulation moving.
In the airport cafe, you can get five breakfast items for €7.50, but a couple from Texas wonder aloud if two slices of toast constitute one item. "Yes", says the foreign national behind the counter, clearly in tune with Irish logic, "two is one".
The sun is coming up on Terminal 2. The taxis are pulling up in their droves. The girl at the breakfast counter has decided to try a new approach with a couple of English tourists looking for scrambled egg on toast. She puts two slices side by side on the plate and cheerily announces "one-and-one is one."
It's good to be home.