A reminder of why I am not a professional writer. William Sjostrom at AtlanticBlog provides a master class in how to do it, far better than my attempts:

I used to work, when I was young, at the Walgreen’s drug store at the corner of State and Madison in downtown Chicago. For a stretch, I used to work at the counter where they sold all sorts of little stuff that you did not leave out for the shoplifters: good pens, watches, watchbands, odd batteries. It was called the specialties counter, perhaps because odds bits of junk counter might have put off the customers. It was not fun. The worst part was the watchbands. The manager said that Walgreen’s was not a high end store. If someone bought a watchband, it was his job to put it on his watch. So of course we had no tools to quickly change them. But what were you supposed to do when a little old lady who looked like your favorite grandmother, arthritic fingers and all, asked if you would change it for her. Of course you had to, without handy tools, so it took a couple of minutes. Meanwhile, some jerk in a three piece suit was threatening to call the manager because he had to wait for his Cross pen refill. Screw him and the manager. I liked my grandmother.

Go read the rest.
He teaches in Cork, which might be interesting. If we do actually manage to get ourselves ready to move that’s where we’re going to go. Have to buy him a pint someday.