the craic

The Irishman says he lives in one of the most beautiful places in the world. He talks for Ireland. About the friends he has in Indonesia, France, Italy, Ireland, London, Thailand, Nepal. He talks about the Cockney boys and the Indonesian middle weight boxing champion. He talks and he talks. He loves his food and he can't remember if he's been to Madrid two or three times. His nose was broken as a kid in Cornwall. He thought about joining the RA. He's made a small fortune. He's run stables and slept in fields. He has an arched eyebrow. Sold out of suitcases, owned and lost shops. He's fitted so much into his span it's a wonder he's any energy left to talk, but talk is an art he's learned in the pubs and the fields and the mountains, it's something he'll never lose. If you ask him what he'd miss if he went into exile, he'll tell you he doesn't know if he could live without the craic.