Ireland jigged into my life and bewitched my soul – leaving me in a breathless state of enchantment.
Stepping off the plane at Cork into the arrivals hall, you are greeted by – wait for it – a tiny little burning stove, merrily glowing in the middle of the floor. Blissfully oblivious to its grey surroundings, it breathes out a little pool of molten warmth, licking and crackling at the peaty heart within. For all the world as if it, by merely being gleeful and friendly, could actually, singlehandedly, warm up the entire cavernous airport.
And that, in a moment, captured my heart forever and encapsulates the magic thread that is woven through the emerald fabric of this fairy kingdom: nothing is impossible, if you just believe…
The magick is everywhere - but unless you travel carefully, senses primed - you could very easily pass through in a haze of trendy shops, jovial nightlife and good food and beguiled by the celtic tiger, you will fail to notice it.
Because they are far to unpretentious to believe in their own magic - they shimmy through life with quant abandon, leaving billowing clouds of faery dust in their wake, blisfully unaware of the dazzling bewithment they
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