Monday 12th (morning)

Last night was a good laugh. The place was packed. I wonder where they all came from. It’s a highlight of the week quite clearly as all the women were dressed up and we felt a bit out of place in our jeans. Anyway we found a spot (at the bar!) and watched the proceedings. All the young hopefuls, well no, old hopefuls actually dancing quicksteps, sambas & foxtrots. Describing some of the dancers cannot do them justice, you just have to take my word. There was the bandy legged man, the couple who looked like they practice when they get home and hardly anyone looking like they were enjoying themselves (until the dance finished). One mans partner we described as lemon face as she looked more miserable than most. Anyway the band were good (just a singing drummer and an accordion) and we were enjoying the evening although we were quite cruel to everyone.
Half a pint of Guinness later I found myself partnering a young girl of about 12 for a spot of Irish dancing to make up a group of eight. Five minutes of furious jigging later I wondered if anyone had had a heart attack while dancing there, as apart from my young partner all were at least thirty years older than me (so who’s turn was it to be cruel to who?). In dire need of a fag, another Guinness or the kiss of life, on I danced. I looked over to Ron who was talking to a man who was my dancing partners father. She was apparently the all Ireland (junior?) champion with 215 medals. He was asking Ron if I had done Irish dancing before (no) and was I Irish (no). I’d like to think this was in admiration of my dancing skills but I think he could not believe anyone Irish could be so lacking in natural rhythm. Finally the dance ended and I staggered back to my place at the bar and taking a big swig of Ron’s pint. I said that if there was to be any more dancing I would need him to go back and get me a dress as I was boiling in my jeans. Ron suggested getting an oxygen cylinder instead. My little exhibition seemed to get us accepted as I was invited for a foxtrot with an old hopeful. I politely declined as I was still gasping for air. Ron was chatting away with our dancing champions father and some other women. I think our final acceptance came when the band played ‘If your Irish come into the parlour’. This may have been a hint to get rid of the ‘bloody English’, but as I knew the words (from childhood ballet classes and doing countless concert party’s), I sang and jigged along with the best of them. At the end of the evening, as with the previous night, they played the Irish National Anthem and everyone stood as one, barmen, old men, pissed men. We commented on how proud they were of their nation. We wished everyone goodnight and staggered off ‘home’.

Monday saw another frantic and very hot day. We went into Kilkenny town. On a guided tour of the castle which was pretty impressive. The long gallery, portraits of past owners and much history. There is a lot of restoration work in progress and it would be interesting to come back in a couple of years to see the changes.

We visited St. Canice’s Cathedral which was much smaller than I had expected, climbed the round tower which after last night dancing was a bit of a struggle but the view over Kilkenny was worth it. We both like this town, it’s not too big, it has a friendly feel (where in Ireland hasn’t?) and there it plenty do. Ron bought two Ordinance Survey maps of east and southern Ireland, confidently predicting that he could now find any given spot! We covered a lot of ground in Kilkenny which although a compact place, was hard going as we had parked the car on the outside of town and my calf muscles ached as a further reminder of the dancing.

We decided that we had time to visit Dunmore caves, a little to the north of town. Most enjoyable and a cool 10C. After the history lesson in the castle we had a geology lesson in the cave. Stalactites, stalacmites,calcids etc. Vague primary school day memories were jogged (should have paid more attention).
Luckily we didn’t get lost on the way back to Knocktopher, arriving at 7.20. We were booked for the Irish night at the Black Abbot’s Bistro at 7.30, so quickly washed and changed. This initially looked as if it might have been a disaster, the resort had 21 people booked, but didn’t take deposits and people were either not back from their day or had changed their minds, so at one point the audience nearly outnumbered the band. A few late arrivals saw us up to 13 so we moved the tables together and enjoyed a nice if rather filling Irish meal of bacon & colcannon (traditional creamed potatoes, leeks & parsley). There was a local Irish band, two girls & two fellas who played between them guitar, penny whistle, accordion and bodhran (a goatskin drum, pronounced bow-rawn). One chap told a few jokes and they kept us entertained for a couple of hours. This was Ron’s turn to shine. We had looked at bodhran in Kilkenny and Ron (ex-drummer) had a chance to play one here. The band were impressed as he had never played one before (I think they were just being polite -Ron). We went to bed saying we could make a duo, Ron playing, me dancing - what a combination! We were practicing our Irish accents too, in case we made it!

Tuesday 13th

We spread our wings a bit, plus Ron was showing off with his maps. We headed for Waterford and looked at the famous crystal glass factory, certainly lovely. Ron made me laugh when he said we weren't drooling over it like others, we were more interested in what was poured into the glasses. I wondered how much money they took in a day as everyone (especially Americans) had Waterford bags and boxes. There were assistants everywhere to relieve you of hundreds of Punts, Dollars and Pounds, and arrange shipping. I asked Bobby’s (My uncle) question and was told that the design ‘Maureen’ was by special order and would not be discontinued all the time the factory was at Waterford.
We went on to Youghal on the south coast, parking on the front near the tourist information centre. I was a bit disappointed but the tide was out and hunger was in so we went to find somewhere to eat. In the main street we found a seafood restaurant /pub called Ahernes, a bit pricey but we hadn’t eaten out much so far. Ron had local prawns in garlic and I had fishcakes with chilli sauce, washed down with Guinness of course - absolutely gorgeous! Walking back to the car the tide had come in and we could see what Bobby meant about the beauty of the place now that the muddy flats were covered. It was so unusual as the fields came right down to the sea on either side of the bay.

It was a fairly long drive to Cork. It would be fair to say that neither of us liked the part of town we found ourselves in, industrial and old looking, but we were just passing through so it would be unfair to judge. We were heading for Blarney castle which we eventually found. We climbed the narrow staircase to kiss the Blarney stone and I wondered if anyone had disinfected it before kissing it? After wandering around the well maintained and rather novel grounds, we were glad to arrive back at around 10.30. It had been a long day.