Dream JobWarm enough today now all the same.  Got very close in the afternoon.  I had to take the cardigan off.  Busy enough, mind you.  Busload of young banjo players from Carrick-on-Suir and then, would you believe it, five minutes later, a busload of accordion-players from Carrick-on-Shannon and then a busload of Melodion players from Sikinos.  The racket they made!  Marvelous version of Por Aul Dicey Riley they all did!  Gave them a great appetite all the same.  The only things left in the shop when they were gone were two chamomile and gooseberry teabags and a Club Milk that looked like someone had slept on it.  I’ll have to do a big shop in the morning now to restock.

Ambrose has taken this whole “Futurizing the now building a better tomorrow today!” thing very seriously.  He comes up to me after they’ve all gone.  Says he has a venture for us.   Do you now? says I.  I do, says he, Celbridge Analytica, he announces, and holds up this piece of headed stationery.  What’s that? says I. a sex toy shop? I couldn’t be having any truck with the likes of that!  No, no, says he.  Data mining, says he.  What, like with computers and internets and the like? says I.  Not at all, this is artesenal, says he.  Go on so, says I.  Well, says he, we follow people around the Spar and see what they buy and what they pick up but don’t end up buying and then we put flyers through their letterboxes depending on what we notice.  Isn’t that a bit creepy? says I.  Àh sure they’re all living out loud in this town these days you have to get with it, says he.  You have to thrive to survive, says he.

So Ambrose will be in the Spar all week following people around and I’ll be one me own here in the hut.  good thing the weather will be miserable.  We shouldn’t be too busy.

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