I spied some kind of hawk as we landed in the dark green of Derry. I nudged my secret fiancé: Yes, secret fiancé, like in a 19th-century novel (we’re eloping, the day after April Fools, following a whirlwind romance. It’s so crazy it just might work…). “I bet it goes like stink”, said my man, as he vroomed the hire car out the lot. “Which side of the road do the Paddy’s drive on again?”Davy is allowed to use this ethnic slur, because of his Irish blood, from his mother’s side.