To Doolin

A night's sleep, L and I up at seven. Over breakfast we learned about train problems at Gatwick. Final packing. Mum bright and breezy when I called her before we left.  

Gatwick by car, arriving in plenty of time. Ryanair to Shannon. A man talking, luckily not to us, non stop in the waiting room, Zero frills, and minimal twitching from me, despite Lorraine and I being on either side of an aisle  and being able to maintain hyper vigilance through a window. Ears hurt on landing.

Shannon airport pleasant and no nonsense. We were collected by Sue and John! Great to see them, and to sit next to John driving through the gorgeous west of Ireland. John pointing out tampering with place names on road signs, as there are disputes about how certain place names should be spelled. Finally the Aran islands appeared -- a bit moment as the last time we stayed they were hidden for days, and I said that I did not believe they existed. A lovely sight of three islands layered behind one another in a line. 

We arrived at their house in Doolin, which now has an extension built with big windows and sofas, a gorgeous place to sit and look out to sea. I went down to the harbour with Sue and John to walk Whiskey and sucked in lungfuls of fresh Atlantic air, and the rough sea coming in. You really feel you're standing on the margin of the old world here.

Home again, and Sue had cooked a delicious chowder, which we ate with local soda bread. Lorraine and I drank wine, John as is traditional with him, not drinking until St Paddy's day. He does it to break the habit and expectation. Sue supporting him. A large glass of wine went straight to my head. 

Feeling a bit exhausted, and fuzzy off to bed, and lovely to be away in a wild and poetic landscape. 

Below some of the cliffs in the distance and crab island on the right, from Doolin. Barrels where people bathe in hot seawater and seaweed in summer, Whiskey looking fetching in the stiff breeze.