I don’t like pubs cialis rabatt online Going to Ireland with my father in about 1943. It was a rough sea crossing and everybody seemed to get sick except me and my father. I felt quite proud. We were living in Reading, England, at the time and my father would take a house in Ireland every year for our summer holiday. What I remember most about going to Ireland as a boy was the food: plenty of eggs, butter, meat and milk. Very simple things but we were very short of them back in England. The weather wasn’t always as kind as it might be but I always looked forward to going.