The best time to get coffee in Dublin is 12:45. There are few people waiting in line, and you can get a seat at one of the few tables on the sidewalk. Just as you get comfortable in your seat in the sun, the office doors open like the spillways of the Hoover Dam, and the parade begins.
I rarely manage to get coffee at 12:45, but I did today. Mostly, I read my latest book for work (Explaining Irish Democracy by Bill Kissane), but I looked up at the crowds from time to time.
It took about a dozen glances from my book to realize that the wage-slaves were wearing less clothes than usual. Nothing scandalous, mind you, but noticeably fewer layers.
It was a windy day, and sporadically sunny. I contemplated the rare sight before me, of pasty skin covered by just one covering of cloth, and I realized that it was two or three degrees Celsius warmer than last week.
The high temperature today was about 66 degrees Fahrenheit.
I can only conclude that some residents of Dublin have an uncanny ability to judge minute gradations of air temperature. I also see how such a skill would be useful in this climate.