Turns out we are Irish

County Kerry Ireland

There is a view by some commenters that we are unlucky – or even cursed. Far from it – we live lives so privileged that it beggars belief. Most of our misfortune stems from the fact that I am only marginally smarter that a honey-glazed roast leg of lamb.

This is evident from the fact that I embarked on a voyage to the wilds of Ireland without knowing the address of the place to which I was going or how I was going to get in when I got there. Now sure the owners were supposed to send me that information – but would it not have been wise to check to see that I had it before embarking on the epic and perilous adventure?

Now back to Ireland.

The following morning we had not received any responses to our emails and the phone numbers were not answering so over a full Irish breakfast we decided that we were indeed completely fecked and would move to plan B.

We arranged with Betty to stay in her establishment that night and would then B and B our way around Kerry for the next four nights. We then set off on our journey around the Ring of Kerry.

We had done most of the Ring of Beara the previous night – albeit in the dark – and at fairly high speed because we were running late. I am writing a guide book 'The Ring of Beara by Night' but I do not expect it to be a bestseller.

We became un-fecked after five minutes when Maeve rang to say that they were just leaving the Scottish Highlands and had telephone coverage again. They had received our many messages and they could give us the code for the locked box which held the door key. We had to traipse back to Betty and give her our good news and her bad news.

It was not easy to get into the house even with the key. Irish keys seem to be different. I think they make them child and adult proof. We eventually cracked it by sheer luck after we had all had a go and we worked out that you have to hold the handle at a 76° angle as you turn the key. 76° it is – any other angle will not work – the locksmith is a right little bastard for detail.

It was a sensational house set on a promontory overlooking the Atlantic ocean. Cyclone Katia was in the process of trying to blow it into the next County so we had a fine time at night sitting in the front room – which had glass windows all around it – watching nature do its best.

I had never imagined that a country could be so beautiful. It is just sensational and the landscape and the colours are unlike anything I have seen before.

Cate and I felt an immediate kinship with the land and decided that we must in fact be Irish - and this was confirmed by the fact that I immediately started talking with a thick Irish accent and drank nothing but Jamesons the whole time we were there.

Cate then revealed that her grandmother’s name was Annie Muldoon. That is enough for me. We are moving there as soon as we can. 


And here is a link for those who do not know what a goat thing is. Feck is just a polite Irish way of saying fuck. As this is a family blog I am attuned to the sensibilities of all of my readers and do not wish to offend them more often than I have to. 


Tomorrow: No Brian we did not 'fiddle with the water heater' and it is not our fault that it is spraying water all over the fucking house and if you did not want us to call about the fucking stove not working it would have been a good idea not to turn it off and hide the 'on' switch behind the fucking microwave oven for christ's sake.