There’s a frequent quip we Irish trade about summer being a single day of the year. One good “grand stretch” of unbroken rays, mid-twenties temps and barbecues hastily organised en masse and we’re delighted with ourselves. Someone will inevitably declare that “it might be too hot”. Then, the next day, as nimbostratus clouds blanket the sky, block out the sun and threaten a biblical downpour, we declare in perfect unison: “That’s summer over for another year.”
When summer arrives in Ireland it waits for no one, and if summer is but one day, it’s not a day for cooking or staying cooped up inside. It’s for alfresco plates and beer garden perches; wooden picnic tables with unstable umbrellas; fish and chips by the sea with
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