|From my diary of May 29th, 1985, |
which was my first of 66 evenings in Ireland
"Having dinner in a restaurant
I hear about the desaster in Bruxelles.
One hour later entering a pub,
the game still has not begun.
Two hours later,
the "battle" not ended,
the dead bodies not yet driven away,
the teams are entering the pitch.
What a farce.
'The show must go on.'
Without me, though.
I empty my glass and walk to my B&B.
At 11 p.m. I am in bed."