In June and July the evening colours towards the west and north were intense. The water of Galway Bay appeared as a shimmering purple pool. I applied the colour quickly with a big household brush (which I’d ‘borrowed’ from my father in law with the intention of painting the shed).

We used to live about a mile from The Twelve Pins, a big Irish pub in Finsbury Park, N. London. Now I can see the The Twelve Pins from my study. Is there a *word for the state of finding oneself in the actual physical reality of the name of a pub one used to frequent? (ie. - Crikey, the Marquis of Granby has come for tea. How unexpected.)
* Possibly there is in German.