You know you're getting old when the definitive landmarks that you call yours start to crumble. The people, the places start to fade away. And I found myself getting absurdly, stupidly upset this morning about the closure of a cafe, for crying out loud.
Not just any old cafe, though. This is Bewley's in Dublin. The final two cafes close at 6 tonight, the oldest having been open since 1896; but the real action happened at the Grafton Street cafe, a hangout for writers and artists due to its incredible beauty and central location.
Oh, and absurdly filling all-day breakfasts. Bewley's is in Dublin, after all.
Regular readers - oh, you know who you are; both of you - will remember that I have a slightly odd fascination with the Dun Laoghaire Springsteen swagger that is Rat Trap by the Boomtown Rats. It was not just a little satisfaction that accompanied my first Bewley's breakfast; knowing that, of all songs, this one had been written in that very cafe. The lyrical content, incidentally is startlingly at odds with the opulence of the surroundings; that juxtaposition makes the song all the more special.
And now it's gone. Or it will be at 6 tonight. I'll miss you, Bewley's: as will countless others. See what we're missing here.
Damn you, Starbucks and your ubiquity. Damn you.
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