Round Ireland With A Fridge : Haier Hnsb02 1.7 Cu Ft Refrigerator Freezer White.
Round Ireland With A Fridge
- Antony Gordon Hawksworth, better known as Tony Hawks, is a British comedian and author.
McCarthy's Bar: A Journey of Discovery In Ireland
Despite the many exotic places Pete McCarthy has visited, he finds that nowhere else can match the particular magic of Ireland, his mother’s homeland. In McCarthy's Bar, his journey begins in Cork and continues along the west coast to Donegal in the north. Traveling through spectacular landscapes, but at all times obeying the rule, “never pass a bar that has your name on it,” he encounters McCarthy’s bars up and down the land, meeting fascinating people before pleading to be let out at four o’clock in the morning.
Written by someone who is at once an insider and an outside, McCarthy's Bar is a wonderfully funny and affectionate portrait of a rapidly changing country.
Although Pete McCarthy was raised in England, his mother hails from West Cork, and, despite never having lived there, he can't shake the strange feeling that Ireland is more home than home. A return pilgrimage reveals immediately why he (or anyone, for that matter) feels "involved and engaged" in Ireland. On arriving at the airport in Cork he's greeted by a guy in a giant rubber Celtic cross getup who's telling jokes with a latter-day St. Patrick (the guy who cast all snakes and pagans out of Ireland). Later, when McCarthy happens to mention that his surname matches that of the pub he's in (ever faithful to his Eighth Rule of Travel: "Never Pass a Bar That Has Your Name on It"), the owner buys him a Guinness, invites him to her raucous all-night birthday party, then insists he move to Ireland because, well, obviously he belongs. McCarthy's Second Rule of Travel states: "The More Bright Primary Colours and Ancient Celtic Symbols Outside the Pub, the More Phoney the Interior." While the island is turning into a haven for upmarket tourists--and McCarthy offers outstanding examples of bumbleheaded tourists in action--he still finds plenty of pubs where you can buy a bicycle and which still exist primarily as venues for conversation and Irish music sessions.
While most travel writers seek out opportunities to meet the famous--or the infamous--McCarthy has the charming knack of just bumping into them on his rambles, which is how he met Noel Redding, formerly of Jimi Hendrix's band, and the author Frank McCourt. Far more interesting, though, are the eccentric and talkative bachelors and landladies who turn up in pubs, B&Bs, and the middle of the road. McCarthy has mastered the art of getting creatively lost, wandering the back lanes of Ireland where the hype of tourism has yet to arrive, pursuing stone circles, impossibly romantic ruined abbeys, and, of course, pubs. What he discovers is that "In Ireland, the unexpected happens more than you expect," which makes for a hilarious tour through one of the most beautiful, friendly, and quirky places on earth with a comedian who has honed the art of telling a good story and of having fun. --Lesley Reed
A day trip over from Stranraer to Belfast.
Drew (Guzzi), Alan ( Varadero), David (Harley), ....& me (Fazer). All on a ?20 each day trip from Stranraer, nipping down the coast and around Strangford Loch.
This place used to be the ferry "Terminal" when the crossing was over to Portpatrick......................& from the ACMC "Ayr Classic" July newsletter Drew wrote:
Velton came up with an offer I couldn?t refuse, ?20 return to Ireland with Stena. I?d never been to Ireland. He made arrangements and bought tickets for we two plus Dave and Alan. Meeting in the Girvan ACMC car park, we trundled down the road and about Ballantrae I remembered my sandwiches in the fridge. Not really a morning person. Meeting Alan at the ferry the Stena guys were very good at tying the bikes up, done it once or twice before I guess, much better than The Channel or North Sea service where just for perversity they insist on lining the bikes up on the port side. Yeah we all mount from the right don?t we? Three hours later after a bit of a doze and occasional trips to the onboard refreshment emporium we disembarked to warm bright sunlight, transforming the Belfast dock and industrial area into the Belfast dock and industrial area. But the hills looked bonnie. Following The velton?s impeccable direction sense we completed a circular tour of the Belfast dock and industrial centre before heading for the south west coast. I must say I was most impressed by the forgiving nature of the Irish drivers as we cut across lanes and generally impeded traffic. It must be a very harmonious place to live. We had a plan, sort of. Strangford Lough, but in ACMC?s rich tradition our route was flexible, not for once weather determined. East to Donaghadee on the coast, pretty place, painted seafront houses rather reminiscent of Balamory, but not even I could get that lost. Stopping at the harbour for a bit of nosebag I usually nosh little on the road but was tempted by the Alan's offers of spare. Gratefully received. Dave too, said there was still food in his panniers left over from his last outing. Visions of mouldy wrinkled cheese and ham sandwiches; he meant biscuits.On our way down the coast to the bottom of the peninsula, we went through generally picturesque towns and byways. A gentle pace in the pleasantly warm sun, traffic abating as Belfast receded. Much like South Ayrshire seems "the family car? is a tractor but we were in no hurry. We were more of an accord to absorb a bit of the Irish idiom rather than burn miles. Little cameos grab attention, like the kerb stones in one town painted alternately red, white and blue. So thoughtful of individuals to take the time and effort to enrich the appearance of the streets. I hope they were equally impressed by velton?s orange Day-Glo jacket. With the Mountains of Mourne an enticing misty view in the distance we rounding the bottom of Strangford Lough and rested up a while to view the tidal turbine. One of the first in the world, still experimental but there are few places in Europe more suited. Depending on the tide direction, the short ferry from Portaferry to Strangford either slugs to the other side or sprints. The tidal race on the legs of the turbine is quite dramatic, reaching up to 10 knots on a spring tide apparently. Rather than take the ferry crossing we just continued up the east bank of the lough. Thence to the top, tidal channels sinewing inland like on the Solway but not so flat. Largely bucolic country, translating as it does to urban city rush as Belfast neared. Still time in the day, so we headed south down the lough?s west side and a different view. A high road affording a vista of the many islands and inlets punctuating the coastline, dotted with marinas in safe harbour. Strangely lacking in commercialism, upon direction from a helpful native we did find a purveyor of the obligatory ice creams. A bar restaurant called "Daft Eddies? on an island served by a short causeway. Super place, lobster a speciality but we only had ice creams. They?d probably do lobster flavour if you asked them nicely. Time was running out and we had to make a reasonably fast dash back to the ferry and following The veltons immaculate navigation (no kidding) we arrived in perfect time. Bikes again strapped expertly by the crew the three hour crossing is no ordeal. Walks on deck, craic with genial rejects from Father Ted, time for food and relaxation before swinging a leg for home. Bye to Alan Shaw who for once had the shortest return trip, it was wonderful to drive in the dark and be warm, albeit followed by 50 ton truck on our tail re-enacting the role in "Duel?. A grand day oot. Very grateful to velton for coming up with it and arranging. Maybe we?ll do it again later in the summer, perhaps a blat down to the Mountains of Mourne. They did look appealing; someone should write a song about them. ............Drew
My Books... Let Me Show You Them
Not shown in picture... cookbooks, sheet music, poetry, plays, graphic novels, mythology, short story collections, art books, how-to guides or any of the unshelved books lying in piles around my flat.
round ireland with a fridge
David Monagan is a restless, middle-aged father of three who for years has dreamed of relocating from the USA to Ireland, the land of his forebears.
In his elegantly written, often hilarious narrative, Monagan describes his family's evolving struggle to come to terms with life in a strange land. The result is an honest, heartfelt and penetrating portrait of a contemporary Ireland that is so often portrayed throug the wistful lens of cliches that no longer apply.
Jaywalking with the Irish is a tale of revelations - about donkey carts transformed into BMWs, about great blessings of warmth sometimes laced with begrudgery, about what happens to a family that ditches stability for the tricky task of fitting in abroad.
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