I saw some stuff there, earlier today.
I saw veteran street performers, well used to getting the show on the road, describe gastric butterflies for the first time in forever.
I saw kids in the shitheap demographic of “youngfla”, with accents to match their addresses, pausing to admire the workmanship and mechanics of what they were looking at.
I saw the lads stopping off for one in Clohessy’s on the way to Thomond to see the match, drenched in sunshine and craft beer.
I saw a drunk on a bike on the long roll home, rolling up to talk about his surprise and joy upon realising that the “puppet show” wasn’t just for kids, as well as extolling his wonder at the level of acrobatics and showmanship therein.
I saw a gargantuan facsimile of an elderly French woman take a few minutes out of her urban odyssey to spring a quick leak outside the Chicken Hut, much to the joy of all in attendance.
I saw today all the good that can pour on to the streets of a city that the world has been led to believe is nothing but bad. I saw a city known for horror show its guests how it can appreciate pure artistic mirth, and enjoy it, and pour it back. I saw all that Limerick is, and can be, and all the shit that’s been thrown on us dissolving in the early September sunshine (with thanks to the school returnees).
You can see it tomorrow, if you want.