Truly, we have made this place our home.
It’s weird – you have such nice everyday associations with the word ‘mouse’: computer, Mickey, Modest. And then you see the real deal squeezing in behind your cooker and even though it’s tiny and meek and you are large, you still scream and jump on the furniture (such as it is) and sprinkle poison pellets until you’re ankle-deep in the stuff.
NYC tomorrow … still haven’t found a satisfactory answer to the question “Why do they call it the Big Apple?” (Second only to “Why did Chris and Gwynnie call their child Apple?” in inscrutableness.) My dad calls it ‘An t-Ull Mor’, which is brilliant.
