What I’m Seeing

The title covers what this is about……

09 – Kesh My Arse In Ireland

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I left my current place of regular employment at half two on Thursday and headed for Anglesey.

On the way I spotted this warning sign for stupid lorry drivers.

Then I happened upon this Police rider out for an evening on his plain clothes 1200. He was filling in time waiting for the recovery wagon by creating some revenue.

I made it to The Holland Arms pub and B&B at six and after a fish and chip supper retired to the bar which was hosting the Welsh Freedom Fighters annual pool championship. The only time I heard them speak English was to ask me if I played pool as one of their team hadn’t turned up. I held my own at a singles game and they bought me a pint. And then off to my bed a shade before midnight.

I made Holyhead on Friday and stood in the sun waiting for the deck swabs to let us on.

I had a mates route up to the town of Kesh using all the little roads rather than anything with a white line down the middle loaded on the gps.

It made for an interesting ride.

Whilst riding through the back side of the back of beyond I came across this poster on a pole. A little out of place and I couldn’t think who it was aimed at? A red headed lap organ player…..

I stopped for a picture of Lough Erne before heading around it to the hotel in Kesh.

I found friends waiting outside when I got there which was a nice welcome. And so the weekend could begin for proper.

Friday had to start with a spot of Early Doors, which as to be expected turned into Normal Doors, and then predictably Awfully Late Doors.

See the little fella sitting at the bar on the left, he was the local ageing gigolo, a bit of an Irish Timolgra. He was most taken by all the ladies in our group and spent a great deal of the weekend pursuing them about the bar.

My mate Shep turned up with his tribute to a pint of Guinness head on, a fine white head. This is what makes events so successful, people making that little bit more effort.

This pair sussed each other out, it seems theres different North East clans and they didn’t come from the same one. Beer would prove to be a great leveler though.

Everyone was happy to be there.

A mate appeared in a rather daring pink outfit and sporting a Micro Man bag, he’d found himself some budget accommodation for the weekend which would later involve a heated debate with a taxi driver and finally a lift home in a Police car for him, you really can’t make this stuff up.

Young Mr Kelly in his pyjama top wore the same expression all night, he said he was smiling inside which was a nice thought.

Not sure if this was something to be proud off but it was a very nice plaque and made me want to drink more of it.

The man known as Tuned decided to make amends as there was talk of him being an Anti-Oldfart. He took Uncle Rob by the hand and took him outside for some sweet man love. He’s just all heart.

At three In the morning got my map out. Much pointing and advice on places to go and roads to take was given. I’d forgotten it all by the daybreak but I had some scribbles and arrows marked on my map so decided to head for them after breakfast.

So I set out on my own personal ride-out with a full packet of fags and a litre of Irish spring water to stave off my raging thirst.

From Kesh I headed west and at first rode past the fields where the Irish grow peat for stacking up outside their bungalows. I think it takes a long time to grow a full field of peat, and seeing as everyone in Ireland is building a bungalow, it’s becoming a very sought after commodity over there.

I found my way to the coast and followed a sign to a place called Saint Johns Point, I didn’t see the point but I saw the sea. If you get my jist.

At a place called Kidiebillybeg, or something like that I took a fag break on the harbor. Lovely big ships for catching fish. I couldn’t find fish and chip shop though. So I carried on along the coast.

The sun only shines on the riotous…..

I stuck to this wee small roads around the coast and found some lovely scenic stuff. Stick a fish and chip shop here and you’d have the tourists flocking to your door.

It rained for five minutes then I had five minutes of hail. All the time I could see blue sky ahead of me, a strange experience.

These are early prototypes for the modern Irish bungalows, which as previously mentioned every ones building over there. The grass roof is held down with chicken wire and rocks.

I can see why they’ve now adopted the more mainstream concrete pan tile.

I turned North and did a nice pass over a nice mountain with a nice view over a nice bay.

It was becoming a nice day.

A bit further on I found another cracking vista. This was took just before I came across two proper Dolomite type hairpin bends, great stuff.

When I eventually got back down to civilisation I stopped at a EuroSpar and bought my self a Tuna Toastie in place of my un-found fish dinner.

Outside an old boy chatted to me. When he found I was from Nottingham he told me he’d lived there thirty years ago. It seems that he’d shock Cassius Clay’s hand at the Nottingham Ice Rink and gone to watch Nottingham Forest win the cup at Wembley. It couldn’t remember Forest winning the cup and asked when this was, 1958 he replied. A nice fellow.

Back at Kesh I went to look at the windy lough.

From our room I spotted a Barry Sheen sheep. I was dubious but you never now do you?

Back in the bar I found Mr Toad, he was looking a bit peaky and complained that he was coming down with something. Nothing to do with the immense amount of ale he’d put away the previous night apparently?

Shep and Mr Burton had spent the day fishing. It seemed that all the fish were full up from a big meal the day before and didn’t feel like eating anything that day. So the pair got presented with loser trophy’s, a bit unfair I thought as, as the saying goes, you can feed a fish in the water but you can’t make him bite. Or was that seahorses, not sure now?

Later on someone was a bad boy and had to spend twenty minutes in the naughty room. It seemed to calm him down.

We had a fine meal together and then used the bar facility’s until half four. Which seemed a reasonable time to retire to our beds.

Sunday began with a late breakfast and then some time with the special athletes. At mid-day I got away and pointed the bike South on little roads again. Found a nice statue of a harp player called Carolan, some bugger had nicked his strings though.

I eventually got to Wicklow and did the Wicklow Gap again, a great road if it wasn’t for all the other cars and bikes racing up and down it. I turned off for my chosen destination for the night, Glenmalure Lodge.

At the top of this tiny road there was a Garda van and two officers. They stopped me asked how I was, which was very civil of them, I said fine and they let me carry on. Very odd?

I dined in the bar and had a couple of pints before retiring to bed for an early night. Ten hours later I woke to pouring rain and a huge Irish breakfast. It’s a cracking place.

I didn’t do the main road to the port but wandered my way up the coast road, at the port I met up with Mr & Mrs Toad and spent a rather rough crossing back to Wales with them. I made a mad dash for home from Holyhead and did it without a stop. Roast lamb dinner was waiting for me on the table.

Another cracking weekend away over. Roll on the next one.

Written by whatton

April 7, 2009 at 12:55 pm

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