Blimey! Fourty years!

Phew. Fourty years ago, the last Sunday in July was the 30th. One week after this agnostic had "made" Station Island, fulfilling a promise to myself, I climbed Croagh Patrick on my bare feet. 
At the time I am writing this, I was trying to get some sleep on the carpark at the foot of Croagh Patrick when I got awaken by both monotone and hysteric a voice, again and again shouting "Get out of it! Get out of it!"
Carefully I opened the car door, got out and – became witness of an exorcism.

Later I asked myself: Why would people do this?

He, f.e., kept a promise
he had given to himself.