I wander about aimlessly on Day 23, but do achieve an important objective. I mail some of my stuff back home. You see, the Australian dollar is doing so mighty fine that I'm buying too much - especially clothes - and my suitcase is rapidly threatening to become a big bulging black bag about to burst. It's pretty heavy too.
So I grab meeself a cardboard box from Dublin's central post office on Connolly Street - a historic building in itself - and head back to my room to see how much I can fit inside it, or, I should say, cram inside it.
To my surprise and great relief, I can fit about half my clothes, some of my shoes, and extra stuff I thought I'd need, such as a spare pair of gloves, a spare beanie, spare socks, extra jumpers etc. I get the feeling I'm going to miss some of this stuff when I go to Paris. But now I don't care, there's a lot I can buy with the good exchange rate.
I fold the box into a cube that any geometrician would be proud of, tape it with that ugly brown masking tape and, hi ho, walk down Upper Gardiner Street to the post office. It takes me a while to fill out the customs declaration form. Declaring a set of socks takes up so much space there's almost not enough room to mention 'half filled notebook', and I have to leave out 'pretty blue woollen scarf'. The form asks you to be precise with dimensions, so if I was packing underpants I'd probably lie.
I stroll back to the B&B, liberated as one who has divested themselves of life's sundries. I imagine my box on a journey of its own - by van, crane, ship ... I could write "A Blog of the Box" - but don't worry, I'll spare you.