At first I thought I’d seen someone running through the park in a bulletproof vest. I’ve spent years of my life in places where some people might have reason to do that, but this was South County Dublin where affairs are mostly settled in ways that don’t involve public bloodshed.
Then I thought, vaguely, that people had just started wanting a lot of pockets on their runs, because it looked as if the kind of cargo trousers in which not even the strongest suburban dad would be able to move if all the pockets were in use at once had migrated to the torso.
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