As promised the snapshot of our cell room at the hostel.

I have been fortunate in books of late. The English, August novel was excellent. I just finished the historical novel Arthur & George by Julian Barnes coincidentally also with ties to India and the titular Arthur's last name is Conan Doyle. Great read. On the discard shelf I picked up a copy of The Gourmet Gardner by E. Annie Proulx and Kraft-Ebing's Psychopathia Sexualis, which makes for hours of entertaining reading particularly the case studies included. Apparently masturbation is the root of all evils.

The publican of the Dublin Undergound loaned me a copy of a book he read on plane ride back from a recent trip to Ireland, McCarthy's Bar by Pete McCarthy. Born in England to English dad and Irish mom he recounts his childhood trips to visit relatives near Cork with present trek around same area (circa 2000). I am only a few chapters in but I have nearly snorted coffee through my nose on three occasions while reading it. It would have have happened again but I ran out of coffee and I had to go to work. The prologue sets the tone where it begins to enumerate some of the Immutable Rules of Travel, No.8 Never pass a bar that has your name on it. Others include Never eat at a place with laminated menus and Never attempt to score weed off Hasidic Jews in Central Park under the impression that they are Rastafarians. More rules come out his travels across Ireland proceed. I was saddened to learn that the author died of cancer in 2004 at the age of 51.