Brookstone Helicopter Not Working

Twelve hours Irish

Oh, to get the accounts to be slightly more but the important thing is that I left on Saturday morning and Sunday lunchtime I was back home. A real touch and go. The

escaped had not begun in the best way. In fact, back dall'afterwork the day before, Saturday morning I had some problems to get up and, to avoid losing the plane, I had to resort a taxi to cover the distance rapidly Home -> Skavsta. Apart from the bloodbath that I came to cost (I paid almost more Home => not Stockholm Skavsta / Dublin A / R), the journey has allowed me to catch up on some 'sleep.

Once boarded the plane, I met an Australian that crazy, perhaps for fear of flying, he spent the whole flight to drink alcohol. And though I tried to resist, in the end I found myself to drink bad wine rosé too.

Once in the Irish capital, the dear old Giannino took me around the city to see its beauty. Or rather, to glimpse, as the city was covered with a thick layer of fog as ever in living memory, as I was told by people "of the place."

The evening after a hot dinner at an Indian restaurant, where we saw a lady-in the ambulance because she felt bad because too spicy, continued in Café en Seine .

This is just a beautiful building decorated in early twentieth-century style, where both the input and the wardrobe are free. There, accompanied by two shoulders fide as Gianni and his Mark's friend, happy journey of discovery along with roommates to Gianni, I have literally received the Pentecost. Or perhaps, as evidenced by the photos on Facebook was alcohol in the blood (and not only that)?

Here is a picture with my brother and a girl "known" there.

refrain from comments on the face of tuna that I have in the second photo, thanks!