The first timid light of day stirs, the horizon blushing the softest shades of pink. The vastness of Lahinch Beach stretches before me, its sand – kissed by the wild waves of the Atlantic – mirrors the pastel sky, a sole surfer the only smudge on the rosy palette.
I’m startled from my reverie by a cheery “good morning”. I sense in the greeting an unspoken invitation for stories to unfold. It usually does. The Irish love a chat and are blessed with an innate understanding that conversations shared, and tales spun over a pint of stout, are the threads that weave the fabric of community.
The friendly fellow introduces himself
