Day 2 – Go West

Sharing a bed with a grown man is a strange experience. Especially when you’re a repressed homophobe (though I try not to be…) at heart. You always find yourself rolling over at the edge of the bed, to the point of possibly falling out of bed. All to avoid the an involuntary leg touch during the night… Sorry. Enough of that.

last-roll-177.jpgSpent the morning in Mullaghmore, feasting on fried sausages and eggs looking out at a grim and dark looking Atlantic ocean.

There was a brief break in the cloud over the beach giving us a chance to brave the wind and get a trot along the beach. The endless ocean is a leveler. Love it.

 

On our way south to Sligo we stopped at Glencar lough, keen to see last-roll-027.jpgeither a Nessy or a Timotei ad moment under the waterfall. Disappointed on both fronts, best we got was Jonny in a shower cap. And despite a quick game of ‘if we give you a tenner would you…’ we couldn’t convince him to debag and wear a shower cap under the waterfall. In 20 years time in therapy I’ll be glad he didn’t do it.

We stopped briefly down the coast to look at the waves coming in off the Atlantic. A huge swell with a lovely left to right break looked perfect for a wee surf. Though the closer i got the more it became clear I’d just get dumped upon by a swell like that.

Every other car we passed had a board or two on the roof. Made me extremely nostalgic and jealous for the old drive out to Ocean Beach at 7am with some of the murses. Made me wish I’d brought the board back with me. Maybe some day… Anyhow focus. You’re in Ireland now, remember.

last-roll-038.jpgWe were heading for Achill island. Which is almost (but not quite) a fake island, there being only a 10m gap or so separating it from the mainland. We’d read in the (never again to be trusted) Lonely Planet that there was a quality hostel with great food, a nice pub and a warm fire on the island. Our plan was an afternoon in front of the fire with a book and the papers and possibly an endless game of higher-lower with the pack of cards.

This was quickly scuppered on our arrival to Achill sound (if you have an image of Milford sound in your head then forget it) where we found the hostel had been converted to a nursing home.

We followed this with a 2 hour drive round the island looking for accommodation.

We found ourselves turned away from at least 5 places, but only when they found out who we were.last-roll-044.jpg As soon as they realized it was a group of blokes from the north then they weren’t interested and made up clear and blatant fibs that they were either fully booked (when they weren’t) or had a booking already (when they didn’t). Usually I’m not one to see the worst in people in things like this but by the fifth time it was getting ridiculous.

We divided possible reasons into the following:

1) a group of blokes traveling and wanting a room together must be poofters out to pollute the minds of their youngsters and sodomize the local livestock (don’t start me on that one please…)

2) a group of blokes traveling together will no doubt drink the place dry and throw the television out of the first floor window before spray painting the words ‘bazza wuz ere’ on all the local livestock.

3) a group of blokes from the north are here to take part in a paramilitary training exercise in a Connemara bog before using incendiary devices to blow up the local livestock.

Please don’t be three. I know we have a bit of work to do on dispelling number one but please tell me we’ve got past number three.

In the end we got a couple of rooms above a pub in Newport (where?…) where I presume they thought we’d be far enough away from the local livestock to cause no harm.

We took a (very) brief walk around the village taking in all the main sights, the bridge, the pub (voted best pub in Connemara 2006), the other pubs and even the newsagent. I love this country.

Meeting us in the Newport hotel (fighting off vicious local competition for the title) was the office, who’d pulled his usual trick of driving staggeringly long distances (4 and a half hours on his own from Portadown) to get to a place just for one night and then repeat the journey in reverse the next day. And there wasn’t even a bird involved. He amazes me. With his brilliance or stupidity I’m never entirely sure.

When he arrived we got down to some grub and a quick game of naming all the fifty states in America (damn you Vermont…) and listening to some genuine Irish fiddly-dee music in the pub.

We all went to bed, sensibly putting our clocks back an hour to prepare for the end of British summertime (though i think Connemara declared the end of British summertime shortly after the 1916 easter rising and the declaration of independence…). We all woke in the morning to find that the wonders of technology in out phones had taken time into their own hands and sliced another hour from the clock on top of what we’d already taken.

Technology is smart but also kind of dumb eh?

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