I hopped of the bus because we have arrived at Keel on Achill Island. It was raining heavily and I went to the next pub in the village, where I saw Vincent sitting in a dark corner.

The counter of the pub was made of palisander wood. The guys were sitting there; we introduced ourselves to each other. One of the guys was Dieter Tsitra [link from Ulrike Meyn, Team Cologne, "Finally getting here"] from Cologne, the other was the local painter Joseph O'Daloigh from a village near by. Both went on with their discussion about paintings and literature. Dieter mentioned the name Brian O'Donnell. And they mentioned another artist; his name was Sean Cannon - a landscape photographer who runs his own gallery on Achill Island. Suddenly, they were talking very quietly. I could only understand rudimentary words: … Brian O'Donnell dead… widow in Keel … lots of money … big shit, nobody knows what's going on.

Next to the gallery there is a hotel where you can delicious food and lovely Guiness. Some of my friends and I were having dinner there that night. There were two spare seats at our table. Two Spanish ladies turned up. They had wonderful Southern European accent. I guess there were mother and daughter. Since they looked very much alike.

After a pleasant evening, stimulating conversation as well as lovely people, I took my umbrella and walked to my cottage. I passed a dead fox lying on one side of the street. Could that be metaphorical?