The house on the hill

It would be wonderful if there really was such a thing as a chocolate fire guard.

It would just melt!

I know. But that's the point.

Well, I think, if there is anywhere it could be found, it would be in the house on the hill.

The house on the hill? The house of the withered curtains?

Yes.

No! The house of painted layers all peeling?

Yes, the very one.

But how?

The old man who lives there once was a famous chocolatier.

The old man who takes every step as though the earth will subside beneath him? He doesn't look like a chocolatier.

Do you know what a chocolatier looks like?

I suppose... A bit like Santa without the beard.

This old man is a chocolatier. I could ask him to make us a chocolate fireguard.

I'm not sure. Somehow I expect that his chocolate would be like sugar barley sweets from the corner of an old lady's bag, abandoned and sticky and coated in fluff.

Don't be silly. He is an expert. Renowned!

But his house is decrepit and he looks condemned.

Only in the Summer. In Winter time, when the clocks go back, that house comes to life and so does he.

It all sounds very magical.

It is magical. Chocolate is magical. And a chocolate fireguard is the most magical thing in the world.

Okay, let's go to the house on the hill, right now! Are you coming?

Wonderful news

Wonderful news! They are free...

Irish Times today

Mickey Malteser

I'm really proud of my friend Michael who blogs here. During the week, he did this.

I am not yet walking away...

Though he thinks I am unaware, I have seen how he watches me, his smile laced with gentleness and desire.

I am not yet walking away...

Pastoralia by George Saunders

I was in the IFI earlier.

You live in that place.

I do, yeah. I think I've been to see 115 films this year. So far. Anyway, there was this girl there on her own, having a coffee.

Yeah?

I saw her shoulders shaking.

How do you mean? Like she was having a fit or something?

No...

Like she was crying? Into her coffee? Saddo.

No. Well, I wasn't sure, at first. So I watched carefully, making sure not to let her notice.

And?

Well, she was laughing.

Laughing? On her own? Laughing into her coffee?

Yep.

A looney.

She was laughing so much that she had tears streaming out of her eyes. Her shoulders shook. I thought she might fall off the chair. People kept staring.

In the middle of the foyer in the IFI? With loads of people around? Laughing so much she was crying and almost falling off her chair. Definitely a looney.

No, she was reading a book. And she was laughing at what she read.

Really? I've never read a book that made me laugh so much that I actually cried in public. Was it upside down? I mean, you're sure she was reading. That it wasn't a decoy.

She was reading it, yes. I guess it was just very, very funny.

Hmmm, I'm not sure that a book could make anyone laugh that much? Well, I suppose we should discontinue this conversation.

You're right. Talking to ourselves about our self could get us locked up.

Again.

Goodnight, Meadow.

Goodnight, Meadow.

Goodnight, Meadow.