Saturday night

I wasn't planning to update quite yet, but since barely anyone actually still reads this I might as well -- especially since I found my notebook in my bag. So this will be part three of my writings from Ireland.
-----

Saturday night, 8.30pm

I almost feel as if I am at home here. I'm pleased to see Juan-Manuel (one of [Dave]'s flatmates) come home, even if our conversations are limited and in broken English. I just like him, he seems like a genuine, and honestly friendly person. I love to listen to him talk, imparting his 30-odd years of life lessons in his clumsy and stilted English.

And there's Julie, too. I have no romantic or sexual designs on her -- which is unusual, I just like her, and am happy to just be around her, causually.

I feel, in some way, as if I belong here, or at the very least that I am welcome here, with these people.

Not to leave out Dave, my very generous -- and modest -- host.

I spend the days mostly on my own at the moment, or I go to the pub, and I can almost forget how so very cool, and -- yes -- welcoming he is. I didn't realise that he was a shy person, and often he can't be convinced to discuss what is on his mind. Even though he knows that I know, or I at least have an idea, of the basics -- but just the same he can't be drawn on it.
----

The second entry ends there, almost abruptly. I can't remember now if I was writing that before we were going out, but it seems to but off suddenly -- as if I had to stop writing in the middle of a train of thought. But I like it like that.