Weltmeisterschaft, WM: The second last day. The second last match. What really counts, however, is not today – it’s tomorrow. Right?

I really had missed Pádraig over the past few days. And he had too. There was a bit of a smile on his face when I went back into his room and said ‘hello’. I had missed the chocolate pudding, the ice-cream and the sitting up on the bed-side (helped by his therapists and nurses). I wished he could have told me how that went for him, what it felt like having these explosions of taste in his mouth. What it felt like to sit when he was still not able to control his body. What does it feel like when people go away, come back, tell him that his friends were sending their love, that Dublin hasn’t really changed that much, the town and its people he loves so much.

I am exhausted and tired and disoriented. I had bought noodles in Dublin that I was looking for in Hamburg today, that I wanted to prepare for lunch when I realised that I was in Hamburg, the noodles in Dublin. I opened the Ferrari-red-Picanto and was looking for the steering wheel on the right hand side, and – having found the steering wheel on the left – I drove on the left out of our little street.

I am missing the view down from Mountjoy Square onto the Talbot Street junction, the green light for cars, and hundreds of people crossing the street despite of the little red man telling people that it’s the cars turn. So what!? My Irish heart was jumping for joy at this little sign of insubordination, my German head was asking whether this was a collective suicide attempt by the Irish!!??