Met Matty boy at Gatwick. Claustrophobically squashed into the back row of the Easyjet aircraft. This necessitated gin. Matty keeping me company in this matter out of decency. Another large man squeezed next to Matty also turned out to be going to Marcella’s party too, as were the people in the row in front of us -- and Phil and Ash who we’d bumped into in the departure lounge.
Marcella had arranged for us to be collected at Knock airport and we were driven in a small coach to Westport. Matt and me were sharing a room at a nice B&B run by a very friendly lady called Mary. After dropping our stuff off Matt and I set off into Westport, and a beautiful little town it is too. We tried a few pubs, the first one, Bould Biddy’s, being rather strange (but the barmaid later turned out to be a lifelong friend of Marcella’s however). But we settled on a pub called Matt Molloy’s which was exemplary in every way.
We opted to eat at a place called Mangos and were later joined there by Phil and Ash and a pleasant friend of Marcella’s called Jo who we’d met on the coach. I had meltingly good sea bass. Later went back to Matt Molloy’s bar for more drinks and to watch local musicians playing some fantastic local music. Great night.
Oddly, and despite looking exceedingly healthy, at 11:30 Matt suggested we have an early night. Which turned out to be very big and clever of him. Back at Mary’s B&B I called MJ and talked to her in the way a man talks to a woman, with Matt laughing at us from his bed.
* * *
Next morning a discussion of the description by Kingsley Amis of the small creature of the night which uses the mouth as its latrine, then its mausoleum. Later, and feeling surprisingly fresh, we headed downstairs for huge Irish breakfast with both black and white blood pudding.
Gallingly, my ankle was impossible first thing but improved during the day as I ate horse pills.
This inability to walk much prompted Matty to suggest hiring a car. I replied half seriously that we go to see the grave of WB Yeats in Sligo. To which Matt agreed. The garage man told us it was impossible to hire a car on a Saturday. Having said this, however, he gave us a car within minutes.
Shortly after we were stopped at a Guarda roadblock as the tax disc on the car was out of date. After Matt showed the policeman proof we’d hired it from a garage called Hastings, the policeman with a big smile said we should “tell Mr Hastings that the Guarda are most displeased" and let us drive off free as birds.
Felt very happy as visiting the Yeats’s grave has been an ambition of mine for decades, and, thanks to Matt, suddenly here I was doing it. In fact this seems to me to be a time when dreams are coming true.
If I was cast onto a desert island with only one poet’s collected works to choose it would be William Butler Yeats because I know his work so well, and it would like be taking an old friend.
Reached the old boy’s grave at Drumcliffe Church “Under bare Ben Bulben’s head". Saw with satisfaction the famous inscription “Cast a cold eye/ On life, on death / Horseman, pass by!” which I do, however, think was one of his feebler efforts. And not as good as Keats… “here lies one whose name was writ in water.”
Travelling around here you can see how this landscape really permeates his work. The landscape of Mayo and Sligo is fabulous. The colours are extraordinary. Perhaps most surprising were the strong blues of the mountains under clouds, and the sky huge and full of changing cloudscapes, and great dramas of light breaking through and bursts of thick oily rain and then the cleanness of the rain-washed world and the road gleaming as it rose to meet us. The light changes so quickly that it would be impossible to paint it.
After some tea in the little gift shop, Matt got possessed of the unnatural desire to eat prawns. We drove around the coast for miles without luck. Ended up in an Italian restaurant in Sligo with Matt munching unhappily on chicken.
Returned to Westport in the late afternoon. Matt providing an elegant argument for returning to Molloy’s and we walked into town feeling most cheery. Me talking to MJ on my mobile as Matt, for reasons of his own, stole up behind some ducks to try to touch their feathery bottoms.
Then joined by Paula. Excellent to see her, and caught up with the all the goss. Happily she was a new set of ears for my MJ story and she reacted in true Paula style by giving me a big hug. Then joined my Phil and Ash, Jo and a nice lady called Sarah, also one of Marcella’s pals. From the exemplary Molloy’s we went to eat and then headed off to Marcella’s party. Incredibly this was being held at a pub called “Blouses”. Matt and I happy to note that the place was full.
Excellent party. Finally got to see Marcella, and had huge fun with Matty, Paula and the rest. Talked people’s heads off, and did dancing on rubbish ankle and so on.
Weaved home at two o’clock along the little dark river that runs through town. Talking about love, and Paula saying again how much she loves Pete, her husband, and me blaring about MJ.
Later, Matty and I burbling tiredly together for a bit before passing into a deep sleep.
* * *
Matty and I repeated small creature of the night conversation and joined Paula for breakfast.
Feeling quite shoddy this morning but we three decided to take the car and find the beach. Drove to a breathtakingly beautiful beach near Westport. And skimmed stones and larked about. It was tremendously gorgeous as photos should attest. Really incredibly beautiful morning in which I felt radiantly happy.
And Paula, part mermaid that she is, revelling by the sea.
Marcella had arranged for us to be collected at Knock airport and we were driven in a small coach to Westport. Matt and me were sharing a room at a nice B&B run by a very friendly lady called Mary. After dropping our stuff off Matt and I set off into Westport, and a beautiful little town it is too. We tried a few pubs, the first one, Bould Biddy’s, being rather strange (but the barmaid later turned out to be a lifelong friend of Marcella’s however). But we settled on a pub called Matt Molloy’s which was exemplary in every way.
We opted to eat at a place called Mangos and were later joined there by Phil and Ash and a pleasant friend of Marcella’s called Jo who we’d met on the coach. I had meltingly good sea bass. Later went back to Matt Molloy’s bar for more drinks and to watch local musicians playing some fantastic local music. Great night.
Oddly, and despite looking exceedingly healthy, at 11:30 Matt suggested we have an early night. Which turned out to be very big and clever of him. Back at Mary’s B&B I called MJ and talked to her in the way a man talks to a woman, with Matt laughing at us from his bed.
* * *
Next morning a discussion of the description by Kingsley Amis of the small creature of the night which uses the mouth as its latrine, then its mausoleum. Later, and feeling surprisingly fresh, we headed downstairs for huge Irish breakfast with both black and white blood pudding.
Gallingly, my ankle was impossible first thing but improved during the day as I ate horse pills.
This inability to walk much prompted Matty to suggest hiring a car. I replied half seriously that we go to see the grave of WB Yeats in Sligo. To which Matt agreed. The garage man told us it was impossible to hire a car on a Saturday. Having said this, however, he gave us a car within minutes.
Shortly after we were stopped at a Guarda roadblock as the tax disc on the car was out of date. After Matt showed the policeman proof we’d hired it from a garage called Hastings, the policeman with a big smile said we should “tell Mr Hastings that the Guarda are most displeased" and let us drive off free as birds.
Felt very happy as visiting the Yeats’s grave has been an ambition of mine for decades, and, thanks to Matt, suddenly here I was doing it. In fact this seems to me to be a time when dreams are coming true.
If I was cast onto a desert island with only one poet’s collected works to choose it would be William Butler Yeats because I know his work so well, and it would like be taking an old friend.
Reached the old boy’s grave at Drumcliffe Church “Under bare Ben Bulben’s head". Saw with satisfaction the famous inscription “Cast a cold eye/ On life, on death / Horseman, pass by!” which I do, however, think was one of his feebler efforts. And not as good as Keats… “here lies one whose name was writ in water.”
Travelling around here you can see how this landscape really permeates his work. The landscape of Mayo and Sligo is fabulous. The colours are extraordinary. Perhaps most surprising were the strong blues of the mountains under clouds, and the sky huge and full of changing cloudscapes, and great dramas of light breaking through and bursts of thick oily rain and then the cleanness of the rain-washed world and the road gleaming as it rose to meet us. The light changes so quickly that it would be impossible to paint it.
After some tea in the little gift shop, Matt got possessed of the unnatural desire to eat prawns. We drove around the coast for miles without luck. Ended up in an Italian restaurant in Sligo with Matt munching unhappily on chicken.
Returned to Westport in the late afternoon. Matt providing an elegant argument for returning to Molloy’s and we walked into town feeling most cheery. Me talking to MJ on my mobile as Matt, for reasons of his own, stole up behind some ducks to try to touch their feathery bottoms.
Then joined by Paula. Excellent to see her, and caught up with the all the goss. Happily she was a new set of ears for my MJ story and she reacted in true Paula style by giving me a big hug. Then joined my Phil and Ash, Jo and a nice lady called Sarah, also one of Marcella’s pals. From the exemplary Molloy’s we went to eat and then headed off to Marcella’s party. Incredibly this was being held at a pub called “Blouses”. Matt and I happy to note that the place was full.
Excellent party. Finally got to see Marcella, and had huge fun with Matty, Paula and the rest. Talked people’s heads off, and did dancing on rubbish ankle and so on.
Weaved home at two o’clock along the little dark river that runs through town. Talking about love, and Paula saying again how much she loves Pete, her husband, and me blaring about MJ.
Later, Matty and I burbling tiredly together for a bit before passing into a deep sleep.
* * *
Matty and I repeated small creature of the night conversation and joined Paula for breakfast.
Feeling quite shoddy this morning but we three decided to take the car and find the beach. Drove to a breathtakingly beautiful beach near Westport. And skimmed stones and larked about. It was tremendously gorgeous as photos should attest. Really incredibly beautiful morning in which I felt radiantly happy.
And Paula, part mermaid that she is, revelling by the sea.
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