Ireland - the cricketing Juggernaught

So we had more than we bargained for alright:

After trying, like the little Engine that Could, our bus made very slow going through the London Boroughs and eventually the bus driver (call him Seamus if you are a nominal person) decided to throw in the towel and head back. What ho? saith we.

So on the road from London to Wales we spent 3:45 hours just chilling in traffic, and took all of 45 minutes to retrace our steps. Good on National Express though, they put us up in a hotel for the night. [I heard Frank Warwick say, back in his Channel 7 days, 'AN hotel', but I later found that out to be a filthy lie. The 'an' is only used before a vowell sound, and unless you are the Artful Dodger an go for a pint at the 'otel, Frank is leading you up the garden path.] After a bit of banter as to whether we wanted a double or twin room (there is nothing like gay jokes) we were issued into a twin room in a local establishment which unfortunately for my first experience with an English hotel was not run by Basil Fawlty.

There was a lightning breakfast the next morning (and I took some loaves [but no fishes] to feed the masses [Lex and I] on the bus) as we had to get away by 'half-six', or so said the Bus Driver, Patty or Michael or whatever I called him. And away we were, rocking through the English, and later Welsh Countryside.

From a glance at one or two of teh bilingual traffic signs in Wales, I came to believe the quote from Blackadder that 'You need half a pint of phlegm in your throat to pronounce the place names.' Eventually we rolled into the seatown of Fishguard to begin the ferrying across the Irish Sea.

Arriving in Rosslare on the South-East of Ireland, we took the bus along the coast to Cork. By this stage the travelling was getting rather irksome, but with buses, ferries, hotels (oh my) for a miserly £9 and some good banter along the way, the trip thus far was a success. There are photos on my disposable camera, but we will need to wait a while for the development.

Cork itself was full of characters, infact one of the advertisements for a pub, Charlie's Place, included a description: "Full of characters & CHARACTERS" - unfortuantely we didn't get to ssee this place full of all sorts of mavericks, rogues and knaves, but others substituted. After visitng an Irish tourist attraction we retired to a pub in the evening to meet an Irish bloke who didn't think much of the gimmicky sites around Cork. His immortal line was in response to what to see in Ireland, "The pubs: I have lived here all my life and haven't seen a castle, but I have drunk a lot of $%&@ing pints."

What knavery is this [I read that in As You Like it - what a classic term]? This software thinks that $%&@ing is a website... ah yes, the wonders of teh computer age. Wonders Lisa, or blunders?

Here are some pictures taken at Blarney Castle: without directing you to their recruitment site - there is a stone there, the Blarney Stone, and if you kiss it you are blessed with eloquence for the rest of your days. Also with meningitis.

The castle itself.

Lex being lowered down (gripping the iron rails) to kiss the Blarney Stone. Old Mate here was employed to help get you back on your feet, although he seems to be losing interest here, perhaps he has seen the advertising slogan of www.$%&@.com .

Manly poses. We met these two mavericks from Sydney, plus a girlfriend of the chap on the right (taking the photo). Just around the corner was a bloke, about 18 or so, who was being photographed by his girlfriend. He had long flowing locks, a cravat, an open shirt, and was posing on a tree trunk like a reincarnation of Oscar Wilde; so a ponce. Thereafter the photos had to be manly, wistful and ideally with a bit of shirt open to capture the romanticism, like our friend, the ponce.