How to pour Guinness, eating in LA and that pesky Arizona law.

This is a follow up to the post I put up last time; written in 2010 so the dates and views are from then; I wonder, on this day September 28th 2024, if Los Angeles is the same paradise as Ieft.

Well the medics, Remote Area Medical, have left Los Angeles after treating over 6,000 patients and after a couple of other states they are heading for Haiti – and more power to their elbows.
One or two people have asked me how we manage to eat out so often – well let me tell you it is very cheap to live here and very cheap to eat out. Petrol is about £2 a gallon – in the UK the last time I was there it was that much per 2 litres.
Last night we went out to eat at a French Restaurant at the Farmer's Market and it cost, for two of us, about £25. We both had boef bourguignon and a posh bottle of water so it would have cost more if we'd ordered a bottle of wine, I suppose, but you can see how cheap it is.
On Sunday we had a curry and it cost around £23 but there I had a few pints of Guinness.
The Indian food is not great here but we have found a few places – the Guinness is not that good and it's better to have canned Guinness and pour it properly.
The Guinness I drank on Sunday was from the pub next door to the Curry Palace on Sunset Boulevard where they open the can and dump it into the glass upside down.

If anybody came here straight from Dublin they would kill the bartender for doing that.

It makes the Guinness look like slops and it doesn't settle at all properly.
Guinness won an award for the design of the can and the widget inside to make the Guinness taste and look as close to draft Guinness as possible. The draft Guinness in the pubs here leaves a lot to be desired and to be honest nobody here has ever tasted a real pint of Guinness. They may be used to what they drink, and if they ever visit Dublin or even London they might not like the real stuff – a bit like people who are only used to eating processed food not liking the real stuff.
It's the same with the cheese – it's all processed – and there is no real dairy industry as the milk and cream have to be processed more than I am used to.
The milk – when I was there – in the British Isles is pasteurised and here it is homogenised; in Britain it was possible to save the cream from the top of the milk over many days and churn it into butter; if you tried that with the milk here you would end up with cramp and no butter.
Anyway, apart from the dairy and the Guinness, the food here is great. They haven't quite cracked English food and their version of Irish food with actual lumps in the mashed potatoes would cause another potato famine if it was introduced in Ireland.
I haven't drunk wine for a few years, by the way, which was the best decision I ever made – just whiskey and beer and the beer is usually Guinness. So none of those red wine headaches any more and I also object to drinking beer straight from the bottle so if that's the only choice I don't drink.
The area we live in is very nice; we overlook Runyon Canyon and see plenty of palm trees, humming birds and a lot of greenery.

In this shot you can see the welcome you get when you get to the gate of the canyon which might frighten people who are scared of snakes away but I have been over the canyon hundreds of times and I've only seen two or three snakes. I've seen plenty of other things there though like a woodpecker. I have heard them all my life but here I actually saw one.
There are also loads of butterflies and a morning yoga class just as you walk through the gate.

The other photo is on the way down the canyon and you can just see the roof of our building – right at the part where the canyon disappears; the flat roof.
All the talk here at the moment is about the new immigration law in Arizona where cops will be able to stop people, who they suspect is an illegal immigrant (what they call illegals or illegal aliens) and ask for papers. The chances of them asking me is quite remote so they will have to racially profile people with brown skin – the Latino.
The Latino does a lot of the work here by the way, and the Latina; they sweep the streets, do the gardening and do a lot of the manual work the Americans won't do and if they don't do that you can see them selling oranges on street corners. Of course I have heard that the gangs rip them off for, what can only be called, protection money.
What you don't see the Latino doing is begging; there are lots of beggars here after spare change; they are not called beggars they are called pan handlers – is that the politically correct way I wonder?
Santa Monica, I would say, have the most beggars around here; nearly as many as San Francisco, and you see all races begging except for the Latino. Some people just come up to you in the street with their regular decent clothes on and ask for money. Sometimes it comes as a shock, if they're well dressed, and another place you find beggars is at the traffic lights.
At the Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard people are dressed as Jack Sparrow, Superman, Batman (he gets into fights) and other movie characters and they have photos taken with tourists who tip them – so they're begging too; in the richest country in the world.
The Los Angeles police are reluctant to get involved in immigration issues; they don't want undocumented immigrants being too scared to report crimes – I've always equated undocumented immigrants with sperms; the strongest come here and survive.
The Arizona law – which comes into force in a few months – signed April on 23rd by Arizona Governor Jan Brewer, is similar to Reglamento de la Ley General de Poblacion — the General Law on Population enacted in Mexico in April 2000, which mandates that federal, local and municipal police cooperate with federal immigration authorities in that country in the arrests of illegal immigrants.
Under the Mexican law, illegal immigration is a felony, punishable by up to two years in prison. Immigrants who are deported and attempt to re-enter can be imprisoned for 10 years. Visa violators can be sentenced to six-year terms. Mexicans who help illegal immigrants are considered criminals.
This was pointed out to me by someone who supports the Arizona law but I don't agree with any of it; just because someone else does it doesn't mean we have to.
If the border between Mexico and the USA was open or easy to pass through like it is between the UK and the rest of Europe there wouldn't be an influx of Mexicans to the USA; they would come here to work in the richest country in the world and go home at night or weekends or whatever. People don't really want to leave their own country; they want to stay with their friends and extended families; sometimes they want to, like me, but that is another matter.
So what do people really have against immigrants – maybe the way they look?

Another week in America and Remote Area Medical.

I love living here; I really do. I love Los Angeles; it is a wild, happening crazy city and there is always something to do.

It's a great place to eat and if you mention that there is a new restaurant or coffee shop that's opened people are all ears; they gather around. This applies to all classes as here everybody eats out a lot – we eat out about three times a week.

3rd Street is full of restaurants and there was an article or series in the LA Weekly some time ago where the writer tried to eat his way through all of them; he ate through all kinds of ethnic food and all kinds of meat including goat – which I ate once and found delicious – so this post is not meant to be anti-American.

I received an e-mail the other day from a friend in England and he said how great it was that the Obama Health Care Plan had been passed by Congress.

Indeed it is wonderful that it is on the books but it wasn't the health care plan that Obama set out to achieve; there is no public option.

Most of us here don't know what has been passed and how it will affect us but what we do know is that on the day the bill passed the shares in health care insurance companies shot up – so they think it's a good deal for them.

Everybody will have to carry health insurance whether we can afford it or not.

Now let me tell you how many people in this country, the richest country in the world, are without health insurance – 40 million.

If these people are sick they have to buy Robitussin from the pharmacists and hope for the best; if they suddenly have appendicitis they find themselves $25,000 or so in debt which usually ends up in bankruptcy; in fact the majority of bankruptcies here are for medical reasons; they call them medical bankruptcies.

So whether the Obama Health Care Plan is going to have any legs is anybody's guess.

Last week the Remote Area Medical team came to the sports centre here in Los Angeles - you will see above at the top of the page ordinary middle class people waiting outside.


On the first day, Tuesday, they carried out procedures which included 95 tooth extractions, 22 oral surgeries, 470 fillings, prescriptions for 140 eyeglasses, 45 mammograms, 43, HIV tests and 96 Pap smears.

You have to ask yourself why the equivalent of Doctors Without Borders are in the second biggest city in the richest country in the world? And I think I have answered that earlier.

In Los Angeles 22% of adults are without medical insurance; that's why they are here.

I have to conclude that it may be too late here for a national health service or any kind of universal health care – or what they call here socialized medicine; I hope I'm wrong.

Remote Area Medical – or RAM – was started by Stan Brock; I looked him up on Wikipedia and he was was born in 1936 in Preston, Lancashire, England.

He was educated at Canford School, Wimborne, Dorset. His father, a civil servant, was posted to the British Colony of Guyana.

He was known on TV for a show called Wild Kingdom and seems to have had, so far, an amazing life – wrestling with anacondas in the Amazon Basin for example.

When RAM were here last time there was a problem as they couldn't bring doctors into the state unless they had a Californian licence to practice; so the doctors without borders status had to be kicked into touch.

So each time they visit a state they have to advertise for volunteers; I think we might volunteer next time; not because of our medical expertise – even though Margaret is a qualified nurse (in the UK) – but to help organizing the queues etc.

They need to people to stand in line for somebody who has to relieve themselves or go to another queue and, you know - it'll be an experience.

At the sports centre they have notices saying 'line for fillings,' line for extractions,' 'line for spectacles' and all the other ailments.

There have been interviews on the radio with some of the doctors – on kpcc.org if you fancy listening – and one of the doctors said that it is just like being in the third world; the poor of the third world are the same as our poor.

Stan Brock shows up to each venue and uses a loud hailer to organise things; he said he sees many things but gets the greatest satisfaction when he sees people newly fitted with glasses; it's as if they've been given sight from being blind, I suppose, and I can easily understand it.

There are very sad cases; a doctor said there was a patient who had diabetes and hadn't taken her meds for six years; the doctor said she was dreading the results of the examinations as the organs will be in failure.

The RAM will be travelling on next week to Tennessee, Kentucky, Maryland and other states and each time they will be looking for volunteers.

Here's a letter from Stan Brock - http://www.ramusa.org/about/letter.htm - if you want to write a screenplay what better subject could you want?

The Comedians

Jack Benny

Dave Allen

Johnny Vegas

Norman Evans

Well thanks very much for the support – I had a lot of private e-mails about the show and about the progress of my voice and in the finishing up we had a good weekend.

I am writing this at three thirty in the morning as we are rushed off our feet with packing and arranging things for the big move back to the UK; it's going to be an adventure for us as we are taking the train from Los Angeles to New York which takes three days, before taking the ship.

We have a stop over in Chicago for six hours so we must take advantage of that; I don't think I'll have time to take in some blues but if there is a chance I'll try.

I also want to try and get on a tourist bus for a guided tour of the city. I am much more interested in seeing where Al Capone lived or where the Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre occurred than trying to blend in with the locals. Tourists look like tourists; it's the way they carry their cameras and the way they try and blend in and in any case there's nothing wrong with being a tourist.

Back to the weekend: I really enjoyed the show and learned a lot. I didn't break any box office records but I had decent houses and a lot of my friends came and it was great seeing them after the show.

Nothing is written in stone but I think the script is the way I like it.

For those who don't know what it's about – and why should you? - it's about a comedian who has an 'out of body' experience and sees himself doing his act; he eventually realises what he is which is just like the other 'old school' comedians of his generation with their old ways trying to be hip.

The old comedians would never touch the microphone like the newer ones do today; the new ones walk around the stage with the microphone in their hand which is something you would never see Jack Benny do as he knew what to do with his hands.

There is a famous play called The Comedians by Trevor Griffiths which is set in a comedy school. It was a hit in the West End and on Broadway in the seventies. It deals with the young comedian who doesn't know what to do with his hands taking the microphone off the stand and holding it; some of the play is very funny and sad and has scenes of the 'students' taking the mic off the stand and leaning against it.

Isn't it strange that it's pronounced as mike and spelt mic?

My comedian, Eddie Ramone, also uses the Eff word for the first time on stage as he is trying to be 'dangerous' as he puts it; I got this idea from seeing a very famous comedian at a roast using it like the other younger comics do and it didn't seem to fit; he looked embarrassed.

The top picture is of Jack Benny whom I mentioned earlier on; he was a sophisticated American comedian known for his impeccable timing and poise.

Then we have Dave Allen; an Irish comedian well known in the 60s and 70s who would sit sipping a drink that only looked like whiskey (his drink was champagne) and he was the epitome of relaxation.

Next one down is a modern comedian Johnny Vegas, who also gets a lot of work as an actor, who is a typical northern comedian rather like Norman Evans who is in the bottom photo, who specialised in being Norma Evans too.

All funny and I certainly do not compare myself with any of them; the hardest part of my play is standing up and doing the 'stand up' comedy bits.

This is totally different from being funny in a play or a movie – I always knew it was it has just been confirmed to me that's all.

Oh why not – here is a picture of me as Eddie Ramone.

Eddie Ramone

Bill Sparkman of Clay County, Kentucky.

  

Me and my pal Nick, in the street, recently,  

with Shaftesbury Avenue in the background.

I wrote this in 2009 when I lived in Los Angeles and today I found it, read it and that's why it's here. The photo - a couple of months ago after a roam around Soho.

I heard an article on NPR this morning (in 2009) about the death of a fella called Bill Sparkman in Clay County, Kentucky.
Bill Sparkman was a Census Bureau worker for Clay County and he was found on September 12th hanging from a tree with the word 'FED' scrawled on his chest; now when they say scrawled I don't really know what they mean unless it was on his actual bare chest which makes the whole thing even more macabre.
The people in Clay County overwhelmingly voted for John McCain in the election last year (2008) and have been protesting against President Obama ever since; they see him as a big spending socialist. 

To me, and to anybody from Europe that sounds comedic; we have lived under so called socialists, they have always been in our governments, and Mister Obama is nowhere near being a socialist; if he lived in Britain he would be on the right wing of the Labour Party.

But to get back to Bill Sparkman; he was, apparently, a man who had gone back to school to qualify as a school teacher and, indeed, worked as a substitute teacher; the census only happens every so often – five years is it or ten? - and he had started his census work recently; he had also been diagnosed with a form of cancer – non Hodgkin's lymphoma.

The FBI have said that his death is either a homicide, a suicide or an accident. Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous in all your life; how could a man accidentally scrawl something onto his chest and then hang himself – some accident!

Here is direct quite from Yahoo News: 'Al Cross, a former reporter for the Louisville Courier-Journal who covered the area for 30 years, believes that the conditions underlying the murder go back much farther and much deeper - and are more local - than the spate of recent ire.'

Today I'm going to write about illegal alcohol in Donegal, Ireland; not that I know too much about it but I know what I want my characters to do in the next part of my novel. One of my heroins gets involved in the distribution of poteen and I want a little adventure to happen now so I'll get on with that.

Toodle oo!!

 

The Carrington Event.

 

I wrote about this before and here's a reminder.

I hope you are getting satisfaction from the Internet and find it useful; I do and I freely admit it. I do my banking, pay bills, buy from Amazon and, in fact, buy from anywhere using Paypal: I even bought a pair of shoes on line and had to pick them up from the store. 

Much better than buying things personally as I just hate shopping.

A friend of mine, Ron, would go on line but didn't trust it; he would amuse himself by looking at the Red Sox statistics, fixtures and historical results; would search on line for nothing in particular but he would never use it for anything like banking, buying something or anything which would involve buying anything or using his credit card.

I remember buying things for him on my computer – but his credit card – as if it were somehow safer.

His point was that he wouldn't put things on to the computer in case the whole system broke down and everything would be lost. It never did in his life time. 

But it did once upon a time.

It happened in 1859; in those days (doze daze) electricity was hardly used as it hadn't been harnessed so it wasn't noticed by a lot of people. It was noticed, however, by a man called Carrington and how do I remember this? Because there was a teacher in our school called Mr Carrington. In those days (doze daze) teachers' first names were Top Secret! We would look at the initial and try to guess it.

Back to Carrington the solar storm spotter of 1859: the storm he noticed came during solar cycle 10 and if it happened today it would cut all Internet activity, electrical usage – you name it – and prove Ron right.

The most recent solar storm of similar magnitude was in 2012 – but this didn't strike the earth.

By the way the Carrington I am referring to was Richard C. Carrington (I just looked it up on Wikipidia) and the storm was also noticed by someone called Richard Hodgson independently.

Here's what it says on Wikipedia:

From August 28 to September 2, 1859, numerous sunspots were observed on the Sun. On August 29, southern aurorae were observed as far north as Queensland, Australia. Just before noon on September 1, the English amateur astronomers Richard Carrington and Richard Hodgson independently made the first observations of a solar flare. The flare was associated with a major coronal mass ejection (CME) that travelled directly toward Earth, taking 17.6 hours to make the 150 million kilometre (93 million mile) journey. It is believed that the relatively high speed of this CME (typical CMEs take several days to arrive at Earth) was made possible by a prior CME, perhaps the cause of the large aurora event on August 29, that "cleared the way" of ambient solar wind plasma for the Carrington event.

Here is a link if you want to read the lot:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solar_storm_of_1859

and be careful where you leave your stuff; don't trust that cloud!

Novel chapter 34

 

Chapter 34

To Granda Joe

Carmel was visiting her friend Phyllis who was the caretaker at Doctor Burnstein's surgery, and was, obviously worried about Finbar and poured her heart out to her. It was Phyllis who suggested that he should go for a change of scene and spend some time with his granda in Dublin.

'That sound good in theory.' said Carmel 'but we won't be able to take him. I have go to get back to work.'

'I can take him' said Phyllis 'I'm going over in a few weeks, why don't you let me take him?'

'Well, er.'

' I can take him to his granda and carry on to Limerick. I'll be going on the day boat train, so why not?'

'I'll have a word with Pat.' said Carmel 'and thanks.''

'Which granda?' said Phyllis.

'It won't be mine – he disowned me' said Carmel.

'Oh?'

'It's a long story – you'd be destroyed listening.'

'That sounds like a quote' said Phyllis.

'Playboy' said Carmel 'I got it all from Pat's father.'

Carmel and Pat had long discussions about it and, even though he didn't exactly jump up and down for joy, they could see Finbar was keen. It would mean them telling the school he wouldn't be coming back as Phyllis was due to travel over three weeks away.

They packed a bag for Finbar and he packed what he needed by the way of little books and Patrick put extra ones in his case like The Eagle, which he used to read before the Tommy Bull experience, he packed, himself, the woodman's whistle and when they got to New Street Station, Patrick planned to slip the harmonica to Phyllis with instructions to slip it to Joe.

They had purchased Finbar's ticket – one way – to Dublin and gave Phyllis some money to give to Joe.

The four of them caught the bus outside Sachs' Pharmacy, near Vincent Street, and when it arrived in Hurst Street, Patrick carried the cases to the station and Finbar held on to his mammy's hand as they walked down the hill to the platforms.

Joe said he would be delighted to look after Finbar for a while, answering their letter on the same day.

When it was time for them to board the train, they let Phyllis get on and Finbar and his parents watched her get into an empty compartment. Then Finbar gave Carmel and Patrick and big hug and a kiss each, and he whispered in each of their ears 'I love you mammy' and 'I love you daddy' then he got on the train and walked to the compartment.

When he got there he looked at the sad faces of his folks and then Patrick pressed his nose against the glass to flatten it on his face, and it made Finbar laugh; and Phyllis too. Then he pretended to walk by the window and with each step he bent his knees to make it look as if he was walking down hill. Then the train started to go – slow chuff chuff as it moved along the platform. Carmel waved and blew kisses to Finbar and his daddy ran along with the train till it was gone. They watched together as the train went off with loads and loads of steam filling the platform.

Patrick came back to Carmel and as they met they could each see the tears in each other's eyes. They walked back to Hurst Street to catch the bus.

'Did you slip her the harmonica?' said Patrick.

Carmel nodded.

On the train Finbar knew that the first thing to do, leaving New Street Station, was to make sure the windows were closed. When they cleared the tunnel he opened the window again.

They had stopped at a few stations, Dudley Port, for one, and on to Crewe.

The telegraph cables Finbar could see were still going up and down like empty notes on a stave and they hypnotised him as much as the other times he had travelled and with the sound of the train, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, jiggerty can, he could feel his eye lids getting heavy and, sure enough, like every other time he had been on this trip, he fell asleep.

Phyllis didn't say too much apart from 'look at the field, down there – I think that's a bull.'

The name 'Bull' woke him up – Tommy Bull.

'Bulls don't have udders.' he said, and went back to sleep.

'Oh.' said Phyllis.

Three Welsh Air Force men got in to the compartment at Crewe and it was an accent Finbar wasn't familiar with. He looked at their mouths to see if they had to form the shape of their lips to sound that way. They passed sweets around and were very nice to Phyllis offering her cigarettes which she took. For a joke they offered one to Finbar but he knew it was a joke. He was wary of grown men. He was okay with Shamshad and Daniel, when they came to see him, even though he didn't say much, and Daniel being as big as a man.

He wanted to be into himself. He had no problem with either of them but knew that he had to get rid of the shock he had endured with Tommy Bull. He had heard that he said he was only joking and playing but his memory went back all those years when he took young boys to sit next to him and covering them with a coat. Those little boys were too young to even know anything about masturbation, Finbar knew that now, but not then so he wanted to be in his mind for a while. He knew he would be okay and in a way, he was thankful to Tommy who had made him aware. If anybody went anywhere near him in future, he would know.

When they were nearly in Holyhead they stopped at a station called Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch and that's where the three Air force men got off.

How could a name be that long?

In Holyhead Finbar knew one of two ships could take them: either the Cambria or the Hibernia. For no reason his favourite was the Hibernia and when they got to the platform that is indeed the boat they were taking.

Dun Laoghaire was around four or five hours away so they had to find somewhere comfortable to sit. Around the ship people slept all over the place. Inside and out, in the lavatories on any deck but that was on the over night crossings; this was the first time Finbar had crossed in the daylight which was why he hadn't seen the name of that station before.. It was a bit breezy and not too warm so Phyllis decided they should sit somewhere warm.

Finbar went for a walk alone around the ship. Phyllis was a bit worried about him as they hardly spoke to each other since getting on board. She didn't know too much about any diagnosis of his state, she just knew he was a changed child, unlike the happy chappie from before. Finbar went to the front of the ship – the bow – and as he was standing by the rail he looked up to see the seagulls sending the ship on its way, taking most of the passengers back to the place where they were born and Finbar to see one of his heroes; Granda Joe.

Granda Joe was away with the British army in the first world war and told Finbar about it, many a time, and what it was like in Dublin all those years ago.

Finbar knew the seagulls were only there, with him, for a few miles, and then they would fade away like ghosts in the night. He imagined that were like the human race and what would happen to humanity if they didn't hop on to something that would save them. He had been around the ships and not once did he see a seagull actually on board.
There were restaurants, and places serving light snacks, like a cup of tea, bars for grown ups but Finbar found a restaurant. He had one shilling in his pocket so went to the counter to look at the menu.
One item caught his eye: salad 1/- that's one shilling.
It was a cafeteria style service so he grabbed a tray and entered the queue; he looked for the salad but couldn't see it so asked one of the women behind the counter where the salad was and she pointed to a plate with ham, cucumber and scallions on. 'That's the salad' she said.

Finbar put it on his tray.

When he got to the till the cashier said 'That'll be three and six!' Three and six!! Three shillings and sixpence – three and a half times what he had in his pocket.

'I thought it was a shilling?' he said.

'Where?'said the cashier.

'There'

'Oh that's just the lettuce' she said.

He was embarrassed: he looked at the full salad on the plate; not his favourite meal but it looked nice, it would fill him and keep him from being hungry.
'It's only the lettuce I want!'
So the woman put a load of lettuce onto a plate, he put it on to his tray and he went to the till again and paid; 1/-.

He took a knife and fork from the cutlery tray and found a table.
Sitting down he looked at the meal; it looked at him; all green and crisp and waiting to to be eaten. On the table was salt and pepper. He looked around for some salad cream – and as he looked around he salivated at the thought of the taste of salad cream. Then he started to think about sandwich spread; oooo yummie!!

But he couldn't see salad cream anywhere – he looked at other tables, over to where he had found the the cutlery but nothing. So he decided to get stuck in and eat it and asked himself if he really need a knife?
A big waiter came through the door from the kitchen and he stopped him 'Do you have any salad cream?'
'What?'
'Some salad cream for my . . my salad.'
He looked at Finbar's plate; then looked at Finbar.

Not an expression on his face.

'Salad cream?'

'Yes please!'

He looked at Finbar again and then stared at the lettuce.

'Are you broke?' he said in his Dublin accent.

'Broke? No; I just want some salad cream.'

The waiter picked up the plate and walked off with it.
Finbar put his knife and fork back onto the table. It hadn't been used, they were clean; should he put them in place? Why not?
Was the sharp side of the knife supposed to face in or out; he tried it both ways and it looked better facing outwards. He looked around and people were getting their meals, sitting down and eating, chatting to each other and some of the food looked really good.
He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do; he was only a slip of a kid but if they didn't give him his lettuce back he would have wasted a shilling.
Then the waiter came back, plonked a plate between his knife and fork, and walked away after saying 'there now.'
On the plate was boiled ham, lettuce, cucumber, cold boiled potatoes, scallions and the whole works which he heartily ate.
After he finished he put his utensils at twelve-o-clock, to show he knew his manners and he went back up on deck sitting next to Phyllis. This time he was all smiles, almost back to the old Finbar.

'Where've you been?' said Phyllis.

'I just met a wonderful man' he said.

'That's lovely' said Phyllis 'I brought you a sandwich.'

She opened a wrapped sandwich,

'Salad' she said.

Part Three

Dublin