And yes, the memories of Dick Mack's Pub in Dingle, Ireland, two Novembers ago. A foggy freezing wet windy night and we stayed up all night with just the whiskey and the radio and the candles trying not to set each other on fire. Someone saw Mickey, a guy they all knew, sitting on the church steps across the street in the rain and they brought him in to all of us cheering for him, drying him off, and the drinks were free for him all through the night. He got a real rosy glow before he passed out. All of us were on the floor come daylight, which was gray, to put it politely. We went round the corner, Mickey too, for sausages and coffee, then we started all over again.