God help them Ryder Cuppians (can you say that: “cuppians”?)
The rain hit today in an uncharacteristically fierce blast. If there was any doubt before, winter has certainly arrived this weekend. I was flyering for the Bill Coleman show in The Shack in a couple of weeks when it began to rain. I stopped in at Beanie’s for some soup for myself and the wife and by the time I hit Athlone town bridge, it was a deluge. Turning down past the castle and into the French Market, the weight of the rainstorm was drilling my umbrella into the ground. Patrons of the market were huddled together under the scant shelter of the stall overhangs. Things were barely visible as it was through the rain and water was rushing over the tops of my shoes when suddenly the bag with the two things of soup gave way. The two containers burst as they hit the cobblestones with a splash, spilling lovely soup down into the flow of rain rushing toward the Shannon.
Needless to say, I won’t be writing about the virtues of Beanie’s soup today. Excuse me, but I must go now: the capillary action in my jeans is threatening to soak my boxers.