To Ireland
Up and nipping around the corner to buy breakfast to get the day started. Then a packing frenzy before Lorraine and I drove off to Gatwick. Nice to be back there, though on the Ryanair plane it was not cattle class, more factory farm class. I felt claustrophobic, far from a window, and only the migraine inducing yellow and blue colour scheme to look at. My ears are rubbish, lurching when the plane turns. Poor Lorraine crammed into a middle seat, while I go through the full Woody Allen on the isle seat. However the price is attractive, and we made it to Dublin safely and in good time.
Met by Sue, now sporting a blond cut, and still slim, and were taken outside to climb into a car with John. Then a long drive through Dublin then across the middle of Ireland to the west coast, chatting as we went. John a mine of information about Ireland's history, and also was taught the way to read Irish car number plates, which include the area they came from.
Then we arrived at Doolin, having left the motorway near Galway, and driven along a narrow twisting road, with signs for the Wild Atlantic Way. It was dark, and at one point John turned off the lights for a second, to prove it, and said that his mother had used to tell them horror stories about Banshees and so on, while driving home to Gort where they had lived.
John dropped us at a pub called O'Connors on Fisher street. A nice pub. I gulped a pint of Irish Guiness down in no time. Lovely. Then had two more. We ordered some fish and chips, and these were really good too, and John returned, meeting his cousin who is a musician as well as being a farmer. A lot of noisy but harmless boys came in and things grew quite lively for a while. We slunk off, tired, and John drove us home.
Their place really nice, and homely and we sat by a real fire and had a nightcap before going off to bed. A dark night and quiet night, reminding me of the Guernsey of my youth.
Met by Sue, now sporting a blond cut, and still slim, and were taken outside to climb into a car with John. Then a long drive through Dublin then across the middle of Ireland to the west coast, chatting as we went. John a mine of information about Ireland's history, and also was taught the way to read Irish car number plates, which include the area they came from.
Then we arrived at Doolin, having left the motorway near Galway, and driven along a narrow twisting road, with signs for the Wild Atlantic Way. It was dark, and at one point John turned off the lights for a second, to prove it, and said that his mother had used to tell them horror stories about Banshees and so on, while driving home to Gort where they had lived.
John dropped us at a pub called O'Connors on Fisher street. A nice pub. I gulped a pint of Irish Guiness down in no time. Lovely. Then had two more. We ordered some fish and chips, and these were really good too, and John returned, meeting his cousin who is a musician as well as being a farmer. A lot of noisy but harmless boys came in and things grew quite lively for a while. We slunk off, tired, and John drove us home.
Their place really nice, and homely and we sat by a real fire and had a nightcap before going off to bed. A dark night and quiet night, reminding me of the Guernsey of my youth.
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