Try again......

At last. I’m sitting at 08:15 in our cabin, somewhere near The Lizard in England. I can tell you this because last night the Captains welcome aboard address disclosed the fact that the seas would be rough to very rough until we rounded Lands End in Cornwall in the morning.

Nice to see he was telling the truth! But more of that later.

I had been champing at the bit all week, to get our big adventure under way, and on Thursday I could contain myself no longer. “Marg, I said in my gurny voice, could we not just start on Saturday?” When she said ok then, it made my day. Spent Friday loading her up, Helga that is, didn’t have to wash her, she’s always kept clean, and on Friday night all we had to load was stuff from our freezer and fridge. They’d be turned off for eight weeks.

We would spend the first four days mooching down through Ireland to Rosslare, and the ferry.

Being the anorak that I am, my new quest is to sleep in all thirty two counties of Ireland, well you have to start somewhere! We were going to stay in Meath, our twenty third county, and our destination was to be Ashbourne, a small market town.

I have to say, although we had left Bleary at midday, we were having lunch with Kim and her two adorable kids, and Andrea, at Kim’s. Then we were to call in and see Seainine and her two, and Brian next door at Four Winds, then on our way to the motorway, see the Reavy family and of course the dogs. It was five thirty when we got on the road proper which meant darkness was looming. I hate trying to find a spot in the dark.  So it was, when we got to Ashbourne it didn’t really look right, so we decided on a change of location, staying in Meath, but twenty miles back up the road at the Irish War Museum near Slane.

After faffing about we found the road leading to the museum, a narrow twisting road with hardly a light, and it was pitch black. From one end to the other we travelled, saw three signs for the war museum, but no museum, a policeman drove slowly past, but when I stopped to ask him directions he drove off! I never even got his name, the wee sh*t.

In despair we opted for plan C. You always need a plan C. We headed for Howth. There is a pier there and it is used a lot by motorhomers. Got there after ten, much to our relief, and before sorting out our home, went straight over to “Findlater”, a yuppy type pub, not one I would normally use, but needs must. Having said that, it was a lovely spot and only a hundred yards from home.  Back home and a light supper and then bed. Well I went to bed and Margaret stayed up and crippled a bottle!

It rained nonstop all night, in fact the rain woke me several times, and the wind howled, it was racing through the rigging on the various boats like a banshee. Not conducive to a good night’s sleep. We’d driven one hundred and ninety miles to do what was really a ninety mile trp. Ce la vie!

When we woke up the next morning we discovered we were in the wrong place! The best spot was about a hundred and fifty yards away at the end of another pier. Much nicer all together/ Our original plan was to stay here for a couple of days and get the DART into Dublin for a nosey, but as usual we changed plans and drove into Dublin. Must say it was a very enjoyable experience, driving past the landmarks, and squealing with joy as we called out, look, oh look, did ya see that? Brilliant.

Greystones is in County Wicklow, it would be our next conquest. Although we gave up on Meath yesterday, we got Dublin, and now our second county on this trip was to be our home for Sunday.

It’s ok. That’s the best way to describe Greystones. For a motorhomer it’s a transit point, and no more. The Beach Bar beside the pier is nice, full of character and characters with a lot of tourists thrown in. The town a bit like Donaghadee in size has everything you need, it’s bustling and the locals are a friendly lot. It was to be another very windy night and the yachts in the marina with their tall masts and rigging would make a soothing backdrop to a night’s sleep. Not.

We realized that we had two problems here. We would need to get water on board and need to empty the toilet cassette. On our way to our next location, we noticed a sign for a garden of some sort, like a garden centre and formal garden. This was to prove hilarious. I found the bathroom; it was an out building, so off I went back to Helga to relieve her of her odious load. I put the cassette in a black bin bag and strolled casually towards the toilet. Margaret in the meantime had been doing a recce to find water, and came walking briskly towards me waving to stop. The cleaner was in the toilet so our sorte would have to wait. So, there was Margaret and me, we’d walked around the square, looking in the windows of the very busy coffee shop, the craft shops, and skulking about watching for movement from the bathroom area.  A bit like two old Mata haris! In the end I went over and asked if it would be ok to deposit our bodily waste in his toilet and he said I might be better to use another one round the corner well away from the Restaurant! Happy days, one task complete, and I recalled reading on a forum, there was always a tap in a grave yard, so off we went, in search of dead people.

You might well ask how we manage to find the places we visit. There are two main ways. I ask Margaret, mountain, lake, or sea. When it’s her turn to choose, we alternate. Then I look at the map and hey presto, et voila. In this instance it was M’s turn and she chose sea, so we went off looking for a mountain.

These are found by looking at the contours on the map.

Sometimes the roads get a bit narrow, and in places the wing mirrors get harassed by hedgerows. Bunclody is another small town, in the hills of Carlow and Wicklow. The town itself straddles the two counties, and by staying in the north end we could eliminate another county from our hit list.

We found a cemetery in the middle of the town and went in with two of our five litre water bottles. Loads of graves but no tap. What kind of cemetery is this? We thought. Not even a bloody water tap for the grave flowers. The country is going to the dogs. I forgot to mention, this is a bringer of much laughter, the idea of us two sneaking about a cemetery with water bottles. Obviously meaning, nor causing any disrespect, the inhabitants weren’t even aware of our presence.

Our stop for the night, after enquiring in a local hostelry, was to be a large car/ lorry park behind the Texaco garage. We’d had our afternoon tea, in the said hostelry so fancied a siesta. It was still pouring rain so we parked up and had a kip. All was going well until we heard the noise of a refrigerated container right beside us. A lorry driver had come in and parked his truck beside us, and given the hour and the weather we decided to just ensure earplugs were worn in bed.

We have satellite TV and a big Oyster dish to receive it, another of our handy tips is to make sure the line of sight to the south east is clear, if there’s to be any sort of picture. The TV is high deff so we get an even better picture in the back end of nowhere than we do at home on the B&O.

So while Margaret watched her soaps, I trawled the net. Everything in the home was calm. And then the fridge truck kicked in. We got used to it, but it had made our minds up not to use commercial truck stops again.

Bunclody would be a lovely wee place to while away a couple of hours in summer, we’re seeing the worst of the country in its drab winter clothing. I would like to come back here and sit in the grassy square munching on a mars bar.

There’s an Aldi right beside where we were, and naturally a quick visit would be in order, this we did and topped up our supplies, gin and tonic.

After a fitful sleep, woke up to blue skies and no trucks. A short stroll around the village in sunshine and then onwards James.

We were on the road again and still looking for that elusive water tap. We’d bought another two bottle of water in Aldi, so it wasn’t as important now. However, when we spotted a cemetery in a village with a strange name, we had to pullover. The village is called Ballagh. Pronounced ballack. We had heard it on the local radio station and at first I thought it was somebody taking the micky. Imagine getting married, and now Jimmy Ribshite from Ballack! Wow.

Up into the cemetery and joy of joys, there was a tap right beside the gate. Hooray. Went to fill the bottles, which by the way are kept in a perfect fitting back pack,   and on my back when we go out, everywhere! The water came out in a trickle, nay, not as much as a trickle. We left the bottle under the trickle and went to peruse the headstones. One extremely sad fact, is the mortality rate of very young people here, in this whole area. When I asked Catherine about it, she said the reason lay firmly at the feet of the church, and its policies back in those earlier days. So sad.

Another very sad thing, while we were looking at the headstones, and the water was trickling into the bottle, the wind kept blowing the water off target. Divine intervention???

Blackwater was to be our next destination. It’s a mile and a half from the sea with some lovely walks. The first thing we spotted was a cute wee bar with a sizable car park. Bearing in mind it was only 12:20 a bit early even for Margaret, so we dutifully called in, more to ask about using their carpark. No problem, was the friendly reply. We had one and then went in search of the elusive water. On our walk we found an artesian well, with water running merrily from an old fashioned pump. Since I had two empty five litre bottles and it was only for the toilet, we filled up.

Coouldn’t resist this one, look into my eyes, not around my eyes….The whole area is in a nature conservation area, and it seems to be working. We saw a more varied and plentiful bird population than anywhere else. Seems to me the food chain is intact in Blackwater. After our second stroll we had just finished tea when we had visitors. Alfie and Catherine, two lovely Motorhome Craicers were in the neighbourhood house hunting and they spotted Helga in the pub car park. A wee cuppa and buns and back over to the pub. This has to be the prettiest barbershop in the land.

This was our last night before heading down to Rosslare for the ferry.

A gentle meander through little villages, with many a lovely wee thatched cottage, brought us to Rosslare. There is the Strand and the port. Neither have anything in them, but the port part has Café Lily, this is a place to fill your boots before the ferry. We had the Irish Staple, boiled bacon and cabbage. Marvellous. We’d arrived at the ferry and all the food that was in the fridge, meat wise was used up, most of the alcohol was gone. Tonight was going to be about long hot showers and peeing as often as we wanted.

MS Oscar Wilde is a cruise ferry of many tons. It can carryaround 1400 hundreds of passengers; I hope to provide a link, http://www.irishferries.com/uk-en/ships/oscar-wilde/ 

. But tonight, there were thirty passengers, twenty five freight men and twice as many crew. The ship was today, just back from dry dock and it was empty. Being so light, it would bob around like a cork in the expected high winds. And so it brings me right back to the beginning again.

Hope you enjoyed our brief tale, and please either comment or say something nice on Face book.

Next edition will be from northern Spain in a few days time.