Rituals

Like the line between snooze and sleep, the line between ritual and obsession is much debated. I have a few rituals and as for obsessions, well lets leave that for others to debate. One of my cherished rituals is , on those rare enough days when I work from Dublin, an early morning walk from the office to my favourite coffee shop. It's a short distance, past the not yet open bank and the immaculate window of the menswear shop that harks from another era, the Swedish food shop I have been threatening to visit for years (a threat which still hangs over them), past the bookies and the hospital and the steamy warmth of the dry cleaners. I thread a path through the scattering of joggers and commuters and women whose tailored suits and chunky running shoes suggest an odd hybrid of both.

Sometimes the walk is a chance to clear my head and order the day's to do list, many times it has been enlivened by sparkling conversations on the "phone that will not die" and sometimes it can just be a little space of quite nothingness. Solace.

At Baggot Street Bridge , I launch myself from the centuries burnished granite kerb , past the free sheet vendor towards the corner of Mespil Road. Given how much of my life involves queuing of one sort or other, I'm always surprised at how the queue out the door is a thing I welcome. Its slow steady progress, a chance to exchange nods and smiles with unknown but familiar regulars, a word exchanged with the known, a moment to savour the piles of fresh scones, observing the steady rhythm of the black shirted staff, a group so clearly at ease with each other. I am happy to be part of a line of expectancy whose growth is a measure of their well earned success. Amidst the gloom of the "Current Economic Climate" they are a little flickering lantern of achievement based on hard work and happy customers.

Maybe a year ago, someone put a little kink in their otherwise streamlined production process to ensure that my metal mug had a few moments standing filled with boiling water before it was filled with coffee. I never asked them to but I appreciated the gesture and thanked them. Since then I've smiled as this little ritual has been passed on to each new member of their crew , even though weeks might have passed since my last visit. Its a small gesture but one of the things that keeps me coming back, along with the truly excellent coffee, the porridge with any number of toppings and amazing scones, raspberry being a personal favourite.

There's no time for more than a smile and a greeting, but those little interactions, moments of recognition and gratitude, are a habit of happiness. An essential part of my Dublin days.

Occasionally, a colleague joins me and, as he is a smoker, we sometimes take a longer route back to the office, solving problems in the sun light and the open, but not necessarily fresh, air. Like benediction in October, they adorn the other wise simple ritual of buying a canal bank coffee from some of the nicest people I know.