I'm sitting in the little alcove of a pub right now, having an incredibly amusing conversation with three very precocious Irish children whose parents are in the main pub, watching the rugby game. I really want to buy a rugby shirt. They're actually kind of cute, and it would be fun to have. I should. These kids are very amusing. They're hams. There's a brother and sister and their cousin. 12, 10, and 9. At the moment, they're guessing my dad's age. Oh right, there's a 5 1/2 year old that's busy drinking his Sprite and not talking. I think he's shy. They're making me giggle a lot. Aww, there's a little black haired one with thick glasses. Apparently, she's developmentally disabled. She's absolutely precious, and very, very shy. Anyways, Daddy is bugging me because even after taking 25 minutes to type one email, it wouldn't send, and he wants to try it again. The children just ran away. I suppose I'll give him the computer again, despite the fact that he takes forever to get anything done.