It was going to be so good- but now you'll never know.

Broke the cardinal rule, didn't I? Sitting outside Neactain’s, watching the beautiful people walk by, I spotted a quintessentially Irish characteristic; made me laugh, made me smile, made me shudder with horror.

But I didn't take a note.

Always take a note.

Even now, when the sun has been shining on the West of Ireland for days, there has to be a place to secrete the old notebook and pen.

For 335 days each year I need to wear a coat or jacket here on the Atlantic coast.

It tips down.

Rain, jacket, pockets, room for notebook and pen.

Sunshine, T-shirt and jeans, no man bag thanks all the same, and no notebook.

No notebook, no note. No idea what the idea was.

Scribbler Rule No. 1. Take the note.

Take the note. I will not remember. At the time I think I will remember, because the idea appears so brilliant funny clever ha ha ha that is pure bleedin’ genius I’ve cracked it with that oh ho ho so I have.

But I will forget it.

Lulled into lethargy by the sunshine, I lazily try to compensate for not bothering to take a note by coming up with a mental trigger to remind me of the idea, but it proves useless.

I remember the trigger, but 24 hours later, the bullets are lost, my brainbox is unloaded. I have no idea what ‘Yellow Jumper’ ever had to do with being Irish, and I never will.
So, sadly, neither will you.

The revelation of my genius will have to wait a while. Aw shucks.
Always take the note.
Otherwise you have nothing worthwhile to write.