Easter

There was an Easter, once, that we spent in Dublin. My Gran is from the south of Ireland and we tend to go every October, staying in the little bungalow that her mum used to live in. It’s a tiny place in a tiny village – with 50% of the houses reserved only for those who speak Gaelic, so as to keep the culture alive – and the rooms seem to be stuck quite comfortably in the 70s. It’s wonderful.
This one Easter though, I don’t know if we stayed in the cottage but I do recall that we stayed one night in hotel in Dublin. I must have been about five? six? and I don’t remember much other than the bed I was in reminded me of a huge envelope, which dwarfed me, and I felt like I was about to be sealed in and sent off on a big adventure. And the next morning, even though I was a million miles away in Ireland, the Easter Bunny still delivered.

and it was like magic. truly (: