I walked around Dublin city and saw a girl with pink hair. For breakfast I had a fry up that involved three different kinds of pork. A couple kissed in the doorway of Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre and on Molesworth Street people gathered to remember Jonathan Corrie and protest the homelessness crisis. I felt free, and intensely grateful to be back in a country where individual expression is allowed, a kiss can’t get you arrested, and we can protest freely government policies we object to.

I strolled down Grafton Street and Henry Street, enjoying shopping without going into a mall. Walking down the street I could smell the weed someone was smoking, and my friend told me I was lucky not to see someone shooting up – I forget at times how sheltered my life in the Gulf was.Taxi drivers still rant about all things scandalous, Starbucks is ubiquitous but there are plenty of unique little cafés too, Dublin has an atmosphere. People get my sense of humour.

Back home in Galway, Storm Desmond is getting in the way of some reunions. The rain is aggressive, winds are high, the streets are flooded and trees are falling. But I couldn’t bring myself to say I miss Doha, balmy as the weather might be. I’m curling up with a book, a hot cup of tea in hand, a grey woolie jumper on.

My brother is home for the weekend, my father’s just home from work. It’ll soon be time  for the Angelus and the 6:1 on RTE.

I’m home.