Ire And Eire

The trip to Ireland began with some serious anger.
They tried to take my Zippo lighter away from me at security.
The BAA website states you can carry one lighter on your person, but doesn’t specify type.
Trying to argue this with the ‘Supervisor’ Nazi was going nowhere.
I suggested taking the flint out and rendering it useless that way.
Supervisor Nazi was having none of it.
She took all of the innards and left me with the case.
Even though her colleagues were agreeing with me.
Totally eviscerated my Zippo.
What could I have done with it anyway? Lit a fart?
Antisocial, but not exactly terrorism.

Arguing got my boots removed and x-rayed and my 100mls of shampoo tested.
I wanted to have a big old freak out but decided that as I was hiding some personal use weed about my person, it was best just to leave it!

I’d forgotten how fast Mass is said in Ireland.
I tried with the responses but started to sound a little bit ‘Special’, so stopped.
The priest read the wrong Gospel so just started over again, then tried to quote a poem but couldn’t remember it all.
All most entertaining.
Joyously there was no ‘sign of peace’.
There were a whole load of prayers I don’t ever, ever remember saying and I was on my knees at different times.

I’ve been fed to within an inch of my life.

Apparently there are different ‘levels’ of hungry.
You may not be hungry enough for a Full Irish but hungry enough for a biscuit.
Similar to Hobbits knowing about Second Breakfast.
I’ve stood in Cashel High Street watching workmen let passing ‘auld fellers’ stand and stare in the hole in the road with them.
Health and Safety, my arse.
A flat cap and a roll up was there only defence against injury.
I’ve spent a few hours throwing a ball for a cute but mad Springer Spaniel, named Molly.
I’ve met up with Lenten and can report he is well.
The Aunt and The Uncle are as ever, Brilliant!