Tuesday July 30
On the way to our next stop, we make an impromptu stop at a wee fishing village called Youghal. It’s pronounced “y’awl” , as if you’re having a conversation with a Texan.
It seems that this little village was chosen as the location of the movie Moby Dick starring Gregory Peck. They all stayed in the local pub, and did most of their filming within 100m of the pub.
We stopped to sample their Irish Coffee. Mmmm nice.
There are a couple of wacko characters in this town. One is a self-appointed Town Cryer, while the other likes to wave around a harpoon, trying to recruit sailors for a mission.
Then it was off to Blarney Castle. You may ask, did I kiss the Blarney Stone? Fuck off. No. Seriously! FUCK. OFF.
First, the climb up the steps would have killed me. I seriously doubt that the paramedics would be able to carry a stretcher down a spiral stone staircase. Not with me weighing it down. Nah, let the fat bastard stay there till he either wakes or dies.
Second, apparently there is an element of contortion required to assume the position for the aforementioned kids. That would definitely cripple me. On any given day, when I bend down to do something as simple as tie my laces, bookmakers could lay good odds on whether or not I could stand back up. So, ah no.
Third, have you heard the stories about the locals? They pee over the edge onto the stone, and have a great chuckle as to who will get to kiss that thing tomorrow.
So I n case I wasn’t clear: Fuck Off.
Regardless, it’s a great place to visit. Gardens, souvenirs, lunch. I’ll take that.
At the moment we are sitting on the bus at 19 minutes past the designated departure time, waiting for one moron. I haven’t heard an ambulance siren yet, so they may have survived the pee-stone kiss.
Hold that. Crisis averted. She thought it was a 1330 kick-off. Moron.
But wait! Her husband and the tour guide have gone on a rescue mission. Good Grief. 🤦🏼♂️
On the way to our next stop, we make an impromptu stop at a wee fishing village called Youghal. It’s pronounced “y’awl” , as if you’re having a conversation with a Texan.
It seems that this little village was chosen as the location of the movie Moby Dick starring Gregory Peck. They all stayed in the local pub, and did most of their filming within 100m of the pub.
We stopped to sample their Irish Coffee. Mmmm nice.
There are a couple of wacko characters in this town. One is a self-appointed Town Cryer, while the other likes to wave around a harpoon, trying to recruit sailors for a mission.
Then it was off to Blarney Castle. You may ask, did I kiss the Blarney Stone? Fuck off. No. Seriously! FUCK. OFF.
First, the climb up the steps would have killed me. I seriously doubt that the paramedics would be able to carry a stretcher down a spiral stone staircase. Not with me weighing it down. Nah, let the fat bastard stay there till he either wakes or dies.
Second, apparently there is an element of contortion required to assume the position for the aforementioned kids. That would definitely cripple me. On any given day, when I bend down to do something as simple as tie my laces, bookmakers could lay good odds on whether or not I could stand back up. So, ah no.
Third, have you heard the stories about the locals? They pee over the edge onto the stone, and have a great chuckle as to who will get to kiss that thing tomorrow.
So I n case I wasn’t clear: Fuck Off.
Regardless, it’s a great place to visit. Gardens, souvenirs, lunch. I’ll take that.
At the moment we are sitting on the bus at 19 minutes past the designated departure time, waiting for one moron. I haven’t heard an ambulance siren yet, so they may have survived the pee-stone kiss.
Hold that. Crisis averted. She thought it was a 1330 kick-off. Moron.
But wait! Her husband and the tour guide have gone on a rescue mission. Good Grief. 🤦🏼♂️
No comments:
Post a Comment