The man took a hold of my arm and squeezed it hard.
‘There’s no feckin’ weather like the present. It may have been raining yesterday but if the sun is out tomorrow then what does it matter and if it’s raining today then all there is for it is to get wet with it and be damned for it.’
It was raining outside and the wind had taken a hold of the weather and it bore down on the ground.
He squeezed my arm again and then let go to take up his pint.
‘The weather here it can be as fickle as the fish are on a hot day in August. You’ve seen it come in on a day when there is not a cloud in the sky and it starts with a mist that rises up the bay and it comes in over Carberry Island and soon it is up here and the sky has gone and there is thick wet rain in the air.
‘And it is the weather that does it for people when they come here the first time. Arrive on a day when it is damp and thee is a breeze coming in off the water that is enough to force that dampness down the back of your collar then you’ll be buttoning up your coat to get back in you car and away from here. But come on a day when the sun hangs lear in the sky and you can see the light come in off the water then you’ll be stuck with the place and you won’t want to move no matter if the next day the rain is coming down like so many badly tuned pianos.’