She tells me that he’s a Brother from the order who live in the large house beside the beach. They pray in groups at the edge of the water. She often gets up early at weekends to watch them. It would be nice if she was as attentive to my needs in the early hours of the weekend, it would be nice if she could touch me at the weekend. I wonder if Jenny is attracted to things that are unattainable.

I am preparing a picnic for my family. I boil conchiglie because the kids love the shell shape of the pasta. The day is mild and unassuming despite the large black cloud in the sky that I can discern out of my kitchen window dangling against the purple of the Dublin Mountains.

I was thinking of Glendalough, I say.

She nods and I take that as a sign of approval. She begins to help me get the food together, slicing tomatoes with a delicacy and adding them to a bowl containing lettuce and capers. She cuts great wedges of fruit cake and won’t hear of it when I suggest smearing each slice with a great lump of butter.

Sporadically I have an inclination to go somewhere with some spiritual significance. This is why Glendalough comes to mind. It is in my estimation the epitome of grace in nature. I often think that it is a place that illuminates the true meaning of the majestic in a religious sense. I’d often go there as a child and walk by the lake but never swim because we were warned that it was perilous. St Kevin seemed to speak directly to me there. I was genuinely religious as a small boy and I could enjoy the meditative quietness of the surroundings. I imagined the monks and St Kevin praying with his arms outstretched. I visualized him, as the story goes, waiting tirelessly for the bird’s egg that had been laid on his palm to hatch. I thought of St Kevin wandering about studying ornate manuscripts. It was all so magical to me. I have tried to explain my fascination with the place to Jenny before but it seems like we could be going anywhere for all she cares about it.