When I was twenty-four, my body started to eat itself alive.

They lounged along the beach, hundreds, as far as I could see. Their skin glistened under a bright, overcast sky, their bellies stretched out and exposed.

It started with a man, once bulbous, now skeletal, as he slaved over molten silver day in and day out, creating drachmae for his ruthless, handsome Master.

‘Have you ever seen a dead body before?’ Dad won’t give me a straight answer, just said that’s how they do funerals in Ireland.

When I was a kid, I went on an excursion to a cemetery. I’m not sure why our school decided to send a group of children to a field of dead strangers.