I don’t understand how it can be a whole year that you’ve been gone, when every single one of those 365 days has felt so painfully long without you in them.
Nothing is the same. Yet the world still spins. We all go about our days – without you. Just like that. I hate that. It doesn’t feel fair, or right to just go on without you. I don’t want to. None of us do.
Every day I wonder what you’d be doing, what we’d be doing, if you were here. Probably drinking coffee, probably drinking wine, probably laughing a lot, probably sitting at the waterfront watching our boys play, probably dancing in the lounge room, probably planning a weekend away, probably talking about nothing and everything.
You were the coolest friend I ever had, like, way too cool for me. I was a fucking try hard by comparison. You were cool, without even trying or even knowing how cool you were. Cool hair, cool, stylish clothes. You could literally wear anything and pull it off. Things that if a normal person put them on, they would look fucking ridiculous. Not you though, you would walk out and rock whatever eclectic look you’d decided for that day. You were beautiful, like all the time. Effortless. Even in a 3am photo after 13 wines with you wearing a moustache, a bad wig and a kangaroo tail backwards like a dick – you still looked beautiful.
The photo attached to your contact in my phone, is you wearing a stocking over your face like you were about to rob a bank…you weren’t, you were just dancing at one of our many lounge room discos, and even with your features all squished, you STILL looked good. After you’d left us, Morgy would sometimes ring me or text me from your phone, and that photo would pop up on my screen and make me cry, then laugh, then cry, then laugh.
A cool attitude, you would give no fucks about small stuff, but give all the fucks about the important stuff, and always had the wisdom to know the difference. You were a leveller, never any drama in sight.
A Rockstar, as you would be described so many times.
Animated. So. Fucking. Animated. Your facial expressions, your story telling, your dance moves – your expressions were endless and one of my favourite things about you. It makes me smile-cry (it’s a thing) at the same time whenever I think about it. It is the part of you that I can bring back to life in my mind’s eye, and you are with me again, just like that.
Your life was so full, it was as if you knew somehow that it was going to be short – because you jam packed your almost 45 years with so many incredible things. Music, live bands, festivals, family, and so many travels and adventures. You were so incredibly independent. You never did things because you felt you had to – obligation wasn’t your thing. You were smart and fierce. You loved a prop. You could read a map like you were programmed with a Garmin chip (and being married to Jase, we sometimes suspected that you were).
You never felt guilty for needing your own time, and you taught me so much about how good for us that is. You were a carer – a nurturer, a nurse. A cook, a baker. You were creative. You were honest. You were an ace mum, who wasn’t afraid to bite off more than you could chew with an adventure, or a craft activity – even with boys, the more the more the merrier and you’d still manage to bake fresh banana bread and pack an esky full of watermelon and home made ice blocks before we’d head off for a day out with our boy tribe. You hated organised dance, you were too cool and freestyle for that, and you would bring us into line at a lounge room disco if Ally and I went too far with our YTT routines. You were a photographer, you saw things, moments – that other people could not see, and you would capture it like magic.
You were funny. Like, thigh slapping, laugh til no sound comes out kind of funny. You got me, and I got you, and there were so many days and nights of laughing. I am so grateful for that every day.
You were practical, not overly emotional unless it was necessary, always measured, sometimes ragey, mostly calm and laid back. Always loyal. You were brave. You were tough as fuck.
You could play the shit out of a Melody Pop.
A cook, a cocktail maker, a holiday and concert planner. You loved having something to look forward to, and I was lucky to always be included in your plans. It has never been lost on me how as we get older, and busier, with kids and work and life – that our time becomes so precious and we have less of it to give – so to have been so lucky to have been someone you chose to spend so much of your time with for so many years, is one of the best gifts that I’ve ever been given. I hold onto that so tightly now.
You were always looking forward, never looking back, you had too much to do.
Our LA & NYC adventure will always remain some of the best times in my life, but whether it was our Thelma & Louise trip to Byron Bay, weekenders in Port Stephens, Port Macquarie, mini breaks in Harrington, an afternoon in the beer garden or your back yard listening to Boom Crash Opera in front of the fire pit, our lounge rooms dancing to 80’s songs elbow deep in the dress up box, or a picnic on the waterfront with us showing our boys how to do cannon balls off the wharf – life was just better when you were around.
You know when the room changes when someone walks in? Well that was you. More light, more energy, more fun, more warmth. More everything.
Watching your bond with Ally was such privilege to ride along side next to. I never had a sister, so to see how close you both were, to watch you bounce off each other, love and support each other, laugh with and at each other was so special. You had such a unique bond, like nothing I have ever seen or could imagine. Imagine 2 sisters who are also best friends, I had never seen anything quite like it. You and Al dubbed me as the 3rd McTigue when three of us shared so many things, similar interests, humour, and even childhood experiences, and we did everything together. We were Marcia, Jan and Cindy. What a privilege it was to be squeezed in next to the 2 of you as your ring in sister.
I was even photoshopped into your childhood photos which gave us endless laughs, and we all felt like we would know each other forever. You were my sister, you felt like that to me. We were more than friends, we were family.
It is impossible without you here. I try to support Ally as best I can, but how can I help her heart when she will never have you? You were her person. My heart breaks for her every day. You would be so proud of her, she is living your mantra of “you get 5 emotional minutes a day, then you gotta be gangsta” and she is getting through it, one minute at a time. We talk about you every day, we laugh about things we did with you every day. We are closer than ever, our love for you made us grip each other tighter to try to somehow ease the pain of the hole that you have left.
I can’t even imagine how your Mum has survived this last year, she is amazing – wrapping her arms around Jase, the boys and Ally and the girls.
When you told me your cancer was back, your lip quivered and I failed you, crying in front of you unable to be brave. Truth is, when I knew you were scared, I knew there was something to be scared of – because you’re Kate, you don’t scare easy. I wish I had the measured coolness of you to say all the right things, to give you the strength that you needed.
You would be so proud of Jason and your boys, animated musical Max and beautiful Morgy with his Kate head. They have been so incredibly resilient through the most impossible times.
We planned your secret wedding to Jase, and I felt so lucky to watch you marry the man that you loved so much, Mr Brightside. You were so good for each other. I can’t imagine the eternal ache in his heart without you there.
I was also there when you married Allison….well, when you both woke up after a bender (in my parent’s bed) with each other’s wedding rings on but didn’t know how or why. God we laughed.
I wish I got to say goodbye to you. I love you. There is nobody on this planet like you. Nobody.
Every song reminds me of you – our musical history runs deep, so music hasn’t been my friend since you left. I can’t listen, I can’t risk a memory hitting me randomly when a song plays, when I’m not ready for it.
You crammed so much into 45 years …a lesson I guess for all of us, live like you are running out of time. Because, there is no grand plan. I don’t buy that shit about “everything happens for a reason” – what reason for this could there be? I call bullshit on that. I’m stuck somewhere between feeling broken by the world spinning without you in it, and wanting to live big, because you won’t get to.
How unfair it is that you won’t get to see your boys become men, you won’t get to give them the bird behind their back as they morph into eye-rolly teenagers, you won’t get to guide them, they won’t have your hugs, they won’t get to have the coolest mum on the planet. They will, however, always understand how lucky they were, how incredible their mum is – because there is a tribe of people who love you, who will remind, and tell them so many of the amazing stories of you so that their memories of you never fade. You also did a great job of choosing a pretty amazing dad for them, and he is doing an incredible job of juggling parenting with heartbreak.
I think maybe I took you for granted. I assumed there would be a million more coffees, wines, dancing, phone calls, texts and laughter. I assumed that our 3 musketeers act would never end, our triple threat. I just never imagined that you would not be here.
What a legacy you have left, nobody will forget you – not your boys, not your family and not your friends, not anybody who even briefly came into your light. There is an ache in our hearts and a Kate shaped hole in the world.
I listen to your voicemails, I read your texts, I watch your videos, I look at our photos – I miss your voice. So many times I want to pick up the phone and call you. You are in everything we do.
I heard something about grief the other day … it said:
We have a sacred responsibility to live fully in the face of our losses.
It’s a bitch though.
Never truer words were spoken.
I know I owe it to you to live louder, love harder and feel all the moments – because you don’t get to. But fuck, it’s hard. It’s all so hard without you.
I want to carry a little bit of your Rockstar with me forever, but I could never pull it off like you.
Monday. Just another day. Going through the motions, post-weekend-depression washing over me as I went about my normal day, not realising that this would be the last ‘normal’ day I had, and not realizing how much we take ‘normal’ for granted. And not realising that hours from now, I’d be desperately wanting to return to this boringly ‘normal’ time.
Running through my mind as usual, were all the things I had to do before and after work – pick up stuff up, drop stuff off, sort tomorrow’s lunches, pay some bills, return some calls, take my son to the doctor after work, fairly normal, standard, run of the mill ‘stuff’.
I busily mow through my to-do list during the day, finish work a little early, grab Nate from my mum’s, stop in at the doctors on our way home and sit in the waiting room.
He has been peeing a lot. Sounds weird, but it was a lot. So I figure it’s worth checking out because I googled it and I had subsequently diagnosed him with an UTI, which would need anti-biotics. Since Dr Jaynie isn’t actually a real doctor, and can’t write prescriptions (outrageous I know), I had to make this appointment for the official stuff.
We go into the surgery, make small talk with the doctor, and discuss symptoms. In the interest of saving time, I had even brought a urine sample with us. The GP tests the sample, pricked my son’s finger and tested it as well, then looked at me and simply said “he has Type 1 Diabetes”. I don’t really remember much of what he said after that. Something about going straight to the Emergency department, how sorry he was, and to pack a bag because we would be there a while. My ears are hot, my throat is tight and I feel like I can’t hear anything he is saying.
I am conscious that my little man is sitting next to me, looking, listening and is now panicked and confused. He has probably seen the colour drain from my face, which possibly isn’t very reassuring to him. Trying to fake it, and ‘be cool’ has never been my strong suit, but I somehow get the words out to tell him everything will be fine and we will figure it out together. He cries. I hold his hand as I drive, repeating that he is going to be OK. I can only cry on the inside, knowing that if I lose my shit, I won’t be able to pull it back together, and Nate’s too young to drive us to the hospital, so I pull my big girl panties up so high that I would have given myself an atomic wedgie if it wasn’t just a figure of speech.
I have always spoken to Nate about doing things one step at a time, so that big things don’t feel so big, and overwhelming. We chunk things down and do it little bits at a time whether it be a lot of homework or cleaning a messy bedroom. I tell him in the car that that is what we will both do now. Chunk it down. The only thing we have to focus on just getting ourselves to the hospital. Let’s not think past that for now.
We get to the emergency department and I find myself saying to the triage nurse “my son has type 1 diabetes” – I am still not even sure how I get the words out, or what that even means.
They rush us through to the kid’s emergency department, and immediately start poking, pricking, testing and almost straight away giving him a needle into his stomach. He cries nervously, and I reassure him that it’s going to be OK and that this is the medicine that will help him. I know enough about T1D to know that that ‘medicine’ is something he will always need now, but I don’t have the words to say it out loud to him, or to myself. I am trying to be strong for him, but it feels impossible when my heart is literally breaking into a million pieces as I sit with him watching how incredible brave he is. Nurses randomly hug me and tell me everything is going to be OK. I hug them back, clinging to strangers. I don’t believe them. I mean, how the fuck did this happen? Why him? And what does it mean for him? For his future?
My world stood still. As a mum, all we ever want for our kids is health, happiness and to take all of their pain away when the bad stuff hits them. And he’s been hit. Why couldn’t this have happened to me instead of him? How do I convince him that it will be OK, when I don’t really believe it myself? What if something terrible happens? And again, how the fuck did this happen? And Why? Why him?
He’s pretty shy. He can be anxious about stuff. He just wants to blend in and not be too different, but has a beautiful confidence when he is in his happy place and around his people. All I can think of is how much pressure and anxiety this will bring him. I reign it in for a minute, and remind myself about the whole chunking it down, one thing at a time. Easier said than done, but don’t tell him that.
I’m terrified. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m confused. I have so many questions, some of them I’m not even sure I want the answers to. I want to rewind. To yesterday, to last week, last year, or even this morning – when none of this was real and I was unknowingly taking for granted all the boring ‘normal’ in our world. When my perfect little man was healthy and things weren’t complicated or terrifying.
I just need to tell you a little bit about this kid. Without sounding like one of those mums who thinks their kid is the best, I have to say, my kid is the best. For real, he is just literally the world’s nicest kid. He is the best company. Funny, quirky & articulate. Always thoughtful, always grateful, always kind, always giving to other people and saying the nicest things. Yes he whinges and does annoying things like every kid, but for the most part he is just pure goodness down to his core. It is so easy to be his mum, it always has been. But not right now. It isn’t easy to watch this happen to him. It isn’t easy to want to change this for this for him and be helpless to do so.
Have I let him down? Is this somehow my fault? Did I do something? Did I not do something? The pain in my heart is so real that it physically aches in my chest. My hand instinctively stays on it, as though I’m putting pressure an invisible wound, I am focusing on literally just breathing while my head scatters in 5000 directions. I want to fix him. I want to take it away. I am lost, and helpless. My “everything-is-OK-Young-Talent-Time-Face” is working overtime with him, but surely he can sense my fear.
All through the night in the hospital, nurses come in, prick his finger, at one point they woke him at 2am to give him a juice and sandwich. None of it makes sense to me, and I lay next to him stroking his lovely little head.
In the morning, my eyes open after a total of about 15 minutes sleep, and I close them immediately, trying to make this not be real. I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want this to be happening.
It is such a strange concept as an adult, to have something that you just can’t accept. Don’t want to. Can’t. When it literally is too painful to deal with it, and you just want to push it away, reject it and say ‘no thank you, not today’. I mean, usually, something bad happens – you don’t like it but you’re a grown up, so you have to shrug and move on, or think of a better solution or alternative, you can negotiate, you can change it, or at least change the way you feel about it and sometimes, if you can’t fix it, you just sit in it for a while and heal. Time fixes it for you. None of that feels like it will work here. I am stuck. I am angry, sad, terrified, worried…all of the shittest of feels.
Before long I meet our educator. She speaks slowly and calmly and explains to me the ins and outs of what is happening, what will happen and what that means for Nate. She allows for my intermittent tears and she assures me that one day – not today – it will be a new normal.
Shortly after, we meet our Dietitian, who talks to us about carbs, and counting carbs, and what happens with food, and sugars, and carbs and insulin … and it becomes a maths game. Not great news for me as I’m more words than numbers, but thankfully there are apps to assist with my calculations. My head is spinning with information overload, how on earth will I learn this stuff?
For those of you playing at home, your pancreas has Beta cells that produce insulin – which sends glucose into your muscles to use as energy. Nate’s Beta cells basically killed themselves. Now there are none. So no insulin. So the glucose has no way of getting out of his blood. Super dangerous if it’s too high, and super dangerous if it’s too low. Your normal blood glucose sugar should sit between 4 and 8. Simply, food sends it up, and insulin brings it down. And so the balancing act of Type 1 Diabetes begins. Oh and just to keep it interesting, other factors like sport and stress have an impact too.
Somewhere during her talking to me, I zone out. I think to myself how I never really appreciated the wonderful ‘normal’ of giving my child food – at the shops, at the café, at the zoo, at home … whenever he said he was hungry. Grabbing something quick for dinner, grabbing something on the way home, skipping lunch when we’re at the beach because we’re busy swimming. Never worrying about what time it is, and when we needed to eat meals. That luxury is gone, and I never saw it go or knew that it was even a luxury. And just like that, food, and Blood Glucose levels, insulin and timings will be always be a constant, rigid calculation in my head.
The Paediatrician comes in and talks to us. He tells me that it is nothing that I did, or didn’t do, or that Nate did or didn’t do. He tells me that there was no way to prevent it, that he was always going to have it but we don’t know why. It’s random. He tells me there is no cure and that Nate will be insulin dependent for the rest of his life. Let that sink in for a sec.
Then he says something cool, and I’ve since found myself quoting it when I’m trying to explain what the fuck this is to people. He looks at my little man and says “You are not a sick child, you are perfectly fine and exactly the same as you were before – you just have a lazy organ, and it just means you have an extra job to do, to pick up the slack for it. You need to do all of the things that you’ve always done”. Amen. What can I say? Simplified shit speaks to me.
I always imagined myself with some kind of entourage, but in my mind it was an entourage I would have from being famous for doing nothing, kind of like a fat Paris Hilton…but I never dreamt the entourage, or team of people that would be with us for life would be a diabetes educator, dietitian, pediatrician and social worker.
Leaving the hospital reminded me what it was like when I first took my first baby home, wondering why medical staff were letting me leave. Didn’t they know I didn’t know what I’m doing? I’m supposed to be a doctor now? and decide food and insulin doses? Can I do this? Did I listen enough? But we somehow packed up, got home and settled into our world again. Not our old world, but we began to pave the way for a new normal. Chunking down to the teeniest of baby steps.
Days pass, a week passes, and now almost a month. I don’t sleep anymore. I feel like I am mostly up all night panicked about his levels dropping and having a hypo (super low blood glucose levels where he can fall into unconsciousness) in his sleep. My worst fear as it turns out. So, like with the newborn I guess, there are sleepless nights and a whole lot of firsts.
The day he started back at school was another first. I was beside myself. It’s like that terrifying first time that you drop your baby to Daycare, and you pray and trust they will look after your perfect baby the way that you do. Except this is worse, one million times worse because so much could happen, so much could go wrong and now the odds are stacked against us. How do I trust people to get this right? Thankfully his school are ah-mazing! They have trained up and educated at least 15 staff including teachers, after school care staff, a teacher’s aide and office staff. His teacher calls me to let me know what is going on and we are working together on transitioning from me going down to the school a few times a day for tests and insulin, so that the long term plan can be that they take some of it on. Nate isn’t ready right now, and I am probably not either. But I’m sure it is another ‘first’ that isn’t far away.
The first time he played sport! Terrifying. But he’s the most sporty kid ever so there’s no hiding from that one and we are determined to keep his life the same. He’s a super fit, healthy and sporty kid, which makes all of this even harder to accept.
Within just these 4 weeks, with all of the ‘firsts’, the information, the education, the high and low levels, the finger pricks, the injections on a shy, fairly anxious kid who usually needs a few supportive nudges and pep talks before doing things he’s not sure about – he has started to test himself with his finger pricks and testing strips, and even give himself his own insulin injections.
It is amazing and heartbreaking all at the same time and I’m torn somewhere between crying because a) I realize the reality of what is happening, and because b) I’m so damn proud of him and his resilience, and strength and bravery, I mean, look at him just getting on with it. No complaints, no tears, just getting it done and doing all the stuff he used to do.
Every now and then I feel waves of sadness, like grief. I feel it deep into my chest. I grieve for my healthy child. I grieve for the carefree life I had planned for him. Where food was something he could just take – without thinking about. For him to one day be a teenager that doesn’t have to worry about taking his pump in and out, or doing injections, checking his levels. … a boy, a teenager, and a man who would never have to worry about long term implications to his health because of a shit card he was dealt for no fucking reason other than being unlucky.
As a mother, I’m neck deep in shit that I want nothing to do with. But there is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Information is power, so I’m digging, and asking and talking to people – to doctors, to dietitians, to educators and to mothers of kids with T1D, trying to get as much information and knowledge as I can, so that I can stay ahead of this and teach my young man to manage this the very best way that we can. I don’t know everything, but I do know this. This motherfucker will not slow this kid down. I won’t let it. This is a challenge for sure, and has it thrown us? Yes. I can sense there are many “fuck this shit’s” ahead of us, but I do know it could be worse.
I read something cool today. It was the only good thing I’ve read about a shit thing so I’m going to read it, re-read it and keep reading it. Oh and I’ll be reading it to my son and anyone else who will listen.
“Type 1 Diabetes is the leading cause of courage, self-awareness, persistence, maturity, empathy, appreciation, understanding, compassion, bravery, fortitude, substance, personality, grit and guts. Take that and fold it up, and put it in your pocket for a while”
That’ll do me.
The reason that I’m sharing this, every gut wrenching part of it. It isn’t because poor him, poor me, poor us or poor everybody who has it, or is affected by it.
I’m sharing it because, I didn’t know. I spent all this time never being aware of this huge thing that impacts so many kids. I just didn’t know. It wasn’t on my radar.
I want people to know, I need them to understand. To put it on their radar.
I want people to see it as normal, but to be aware of what it means in case someone has it.
It means not treating people differently. It may mean looking in on your friend if he or she has it, if there are signs of highs or lows – then help or get help.
It means not making a dickhead comment to a parent or child about T1D referring to diet, or lifestyle or anyway indicating that it could be some reflection of the parent, or the child’s choices. It means knowing the difference between Type 1 and Type 2.
It means copping on. It means being supportive, being well read and educating your kids that this stuff happens, that they will know somebody with T1D, and that if there is somebody in their class, or school with T1D, that they are just the same as everyone else, well except for that whole ‘lazy organ’ thing, and the occasional need for a juice. But other than that – same, same. They can (and will) be able to do the same things that they always could. Probably more, because, well, they are brave AF.
And once you’ve read up on it, if you are feeling really passionate about working towards a future without T1D for our kids, then send some of your cash here and make a donation so that the guys in the white coats can make this more manageable, and one day, as they say ‘turn type 1, into type none” https://walk.jdrf.org.au/fundraisers/jayniemoloney/jdrf-one-walk-central-coast
Below is some information. I don’t ask many people for many things, but if you have a spare 3 minutes, I am asking you to read it today. Know it.
Climbing off my soapbox now….
Over & out.
What is Type 1 Diabetes?
Type 1 diabetes is a life-long autoimmune disease that usually occurs in childhood but can be diagnosed at any age. Type 1 diabetes affects over 120,000 people in Australia alone.
Type 1 diabetes is caused by the immune system mistakenly turning on itself, destroying beta cells within the pancreas and removing the body’s ability to produce insulin. Insulin allows the body to process sugar to create energy – without insulin, the body literally starves as it cannot process food.
To stay alive, people with type 1 diabetes must have a constant supply of insulin through injections or an insulin pump and they test their blood sugar by pricking their fingers at least four times a day. People with type 1 diabetes must be constantly prepared for potential hypoglycaemic (low blood sugar) and hyperglycaemic (high blood sugar) reactions, which can both be life threatening.
Type 1 diabetes is one of the most common chronic diseases in children, it occurs more frequently than cancer, cystic fibrosis, multiple sclerosis and muscular dystrophy
Approximately 2400 Australians are diagnosed with type 1 diabetes every year
10-14 years is the peak age of diagnosis
In Australia, around 95% of the diabetes found in children is type 1 diabetes
What is 2 diabetes?
Type 2 diabetes develops over a long period of time (years). During this period of time insulin resistance starts, this is where the insulin is increasingly ineffective at managing the blood glucose levels. As a result of this insulin resistance, the pancreas responds by producing greater and greater amounts of insulin, to try and achieve some degree of management of the blood glucose levels.
As insulin overproduction occurs over a very long period of time, the insulin producing cells in the pancreas wear themselves out, so that by the time someone is diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, they have lost 50 – 70% of their insulin producing cells. This means type 2 diabetes is a combination of ineffective insulin and not enough insulin. When people refer to type 2 diabetes as a progressive condition they are referring to the ongoing destruction of insulin producing cells in the pancreas.
Initially, type 2 diabetes can often be managed with healthy eating and regular physical activity. Over time most people with type 2 diabetes will also need tablets and many will eventually require insulin.
While people may have a strong genetic disposition towards type 2 diabetes, the risk is greatly increased if people display a number of modifiable lifestyle factors including high blood pressure, overweight or obesity, insufficient physical activity, poor diet and the classic ‘apple shape’ body where extra weight is carried around the waist.
We wake up slow today. I keep wondering why we are so tired, we never sleep-in at home, or even on holidays, yet this time around, in Ireland we struggle to get our arses out of bed before 9am. Ummmm maybe it is because the days are the longest days in history because the sun never, ever – goes down. We literally get home most nights around 11pm or later, and then chat with Tony’s folks, or chat in bed, and then we can’t sleep because it’s so light, or so hot, or both and I think our average bedtime here is about 1am, which is late after a big day of jamming in adventures, especially when you’re old AF. I need to start adding a toddler nap to my afternoon routine just to get through it.
We have breaky and grab coffee from our favourite place in Clontarf, and we go back home to pick up mam to take her to the hospital to visit Tommy! He’s coming home today, so we are all a bit excited, and the timing couldn’t be better as we are heading off adventuring in this beautiful country for a few days, and it’s lovely to know that they will be at home together and the world is as it should be.
We pack our bags and head off. We are on our way to the Dingle Peninsular, which is the most western part of Europe! The drive down is mental. There is something to ooohh and ahh about the entire way down, and we do. There is no such thing as a boring road-trip in Ireland, not a single “are we there yet?” to be spoken. We drive through the Conor Pass, which is hands down one of the most ridiculous roads with the most scenery ever. We did it last time we were here, but it is completely different this time around, purely because the weather is different. Ireland is like that. It looks completely different in the rain, when there is cloud, different again in the sunshine, in the spring and in this heat. Regardless of the weather, this place, this country is always breathtaking.
We get out of the car and stand in it. The silence hits you before the view. There is not a single sound, not one. In front of us is nothing but vast land and rugged beauty in all directions – it is absolutely overwhelming. We stand in the silence, absorbing the moment and we need no words when we look at each other, because we know exactly what the other is thinking – “Fucking. Awesome”. We feel grateful and happy in equal measure.
We finally arrive in Dingle, a small port town on southwest Ireland’s Dingle Pensinsula, known for its scenery, trails, sandy beaches – and a dolphin named Fungie. If you read the blog from last time we were here, you might remember I rode him. Anyway it’s basically a cute local dolphin who is famous, and has a shit name.
We find our Air B&B which is a total winner and only a short walk from town so we dump our bags in the apartment and immediately head down to check things out. We are pretty tired, so we make a pact to wander in for some dinner and head back for an early night so that we can feel reborn tomorrow when we start our Dingle adventures. The town is colourful and is alive with nightlife, the pubs are almost lined up next to each other, with Irish music and laughter spilling out their doors and onto the streets.
The atmosphere of the town, immediately excites us, and our tiredness disappears as quickly as our pact to have an early night. We know we are in trouble. Neither of us is ever capable of being the person to leave a party early, so there is basically not a grown-up between us in these situations. We are all or nothing, there is no in between. It is almost 10pm and broad daylight as we walk excitedly past the myriad of pubs trying to decide which one to go into, but we can’t choose – so we agree to work our way through all of them. Told you, all or nothing.
We start at Gearney’s. We drink pints, we talk, we laugh. We listen to the Irish music and sing along, Tony telling me stories of his childhood and of his dad, and how the old songs reminded him of when he would travel alongside his dad in the pigeon transporters, travelling around this beautiful country. We even have a little cry, partly because of the stories of beautiful childhood memories, and partly because we are so happy and close in this moment. Probably partly because we are a little tanked too.
We notice that nobody in the pub is on their phones. Not one, in a pub that is wall to wall with people. Everyone is in the moment, laughing, and storytelling. What a concept!
We become friends with the singer in his breaks, I make requests and he sings them and I feel like an authentic Irish lass as I sing along to all the words with him, I am kind of like one of the Corrs (is there a fat one? Because right now, I’d be her).
We haven’t eaten the dinner that we came searching for, so Tony brings back a couple of bags of chips (translation: crisps, for all of our Irish and UK readers) from the bar… and we literally shove handfuls in our mouths, with crumbs spilling all over the table, and a few tucked down my top that I’ll find later when I get home. Romantic dinner – tick. At the end of the drunk feeding frenzy, Tony holds the empty bag over towards me and says “do you want to drink this?” …chivalry is not dead people. I decline the offer and he proceeds to tip the bag and ‘drink’ the remaining crumbs. He is literally just a whiter version of me, a tad hairer perhaps (though not by much).
True to our all or nothing theory, we don’t see all of the pubs in Dingle. In fact, we don’t see a single one. We stay in Gearney’s, having the best night of our trip so far, and are the very last people to leave. Well, us and our musical friend. When I return from the bathroom, Tony tells me quietly that he’s offered to help him pack his truck .I immediately clarify that he will be doing that alone, because 1. You can’t sign me up to be a roadie when I’m in the ladies room, and 2. It is last drinks at the bar so I’ll be busy stock piling my last order of pints, and 3. Drunk now.
We stumble out the door shortly after, and the street is full of people in Dingle who have out-pinted themselves like us and are happily staggering home. We all gather at the chipper and line up patiently to order our late night booze food. Tony and I walk home with me nursing our bundle of hot food like a precious new born baby. Come to mama.
We wake up. Dusty. I cook up a dirty big breakfast in our Air B&B and inhale the grease like medicine.
Tony’s back is still not good, he is in a bad way and hasn’t slept a proper night’s sleep in days – which considering how many pints we usually have before bed, is kind of a big deal. I tell him we are going to find a doctor today and get this shit sorted. Normally I’d be eye-rolling at the whinging about pain as I’m not the greatest nurse, and the fact that I’ve become the dude in this relationship carrying all the heavy things, but my man is in real pain. This isn’t a man-flu type scenario. It’s horrible and it makes me sad. He is such a trooper, he is in agony but doesn’t miss a thing, doesn’t want to take it easy, doesn’t want to make allowances for it – just wants to squeeze as much into each day as he can – that and he gets FOMO. Told you, white, hairy(ier) version of me.
We walk around Dingle town and it is glorious. The colours, the vibrancy, the people, the everything, I am obsessed. This place has it all.
It is boiling hot. Boiling hot. Anyone that knows me will tell you that I am fairly easy going and can deal with most things, but I have 3 main vices – too hungry, too tired, too hot/cold. When any of these things occur, something in me takes over and it is literally all that I can say. ON. REPEAT. “fuck it’s hot” “god it’s so hot” “are you hot?” “I’m so hot” …. Tony pretends he can’t hear me for the most part but I can tell he wants to scream into my face “aren’t you a fucking Australian?” I hear you Tony Storey, and I agree – I need to drink a cup of concrete and harden the fuck up. But in fairness to me, I whinge about the heat in Oz too.
We stop at a gorgeous little jeweler in the main street and Tony takes me inside and talks to the owner and asks him to hand-design and make me a rose gold traditional Irish Claddagh ring. I am beside myself, it is going to be beautiful, and what a precious memory to hold of this trip, of these moments. The bad news is, he can’t make it while I wait (outrageous) and he will have to post it to us when we get home. There was the awkward moment of him trying to size my fingers, which thanks to the heat and my hangover, were total sausage fingers and I’m fairly sure he was using men’s rings for sizing by the end, either that or a bangle. I’m a dainty little bird.
We walk around happy, loving the shit out of each other and feeling really grateful for our time here.
It’s almost midday so we stop and have a pint in a place called Foxy Johns Hardware Store. From the front window and signage, this place looks like a legitimate hardware store – but when you walk in, the only tools there are us. It is a genius idea. We laugh imaging how many men tell their wives that they are ducking up to the hardware shop. We imagine the size of the pub we’d have in Oz if Bunnings took it on.
We drive out to Inch Beach, one of Ireland’s famous surfing beaches, in fact, Mick Fanning surfed there when he was visiting his Irish roots (and by that I mean family heritage, not chicks he had pulled on the surfing circuit). On the drive out there, it is nothing but green, amazing scenery that has us turning our heads about trying to soak it all in as we drive through it. We drive through the Irish speaking towns, and the countryside with its patchwork fields and surrounding mountains, this place is as though Mother Nature applied a filter. Inch Beach is crazy, it is bright blue ocean for as far as the eye can see, with huge mountains surrounding it. I’ve never seen a beach like it.
It is slightly weird seeing people driving straight onto the sand, parking their cars and wandering off for a dip. They’ve got the beach parking sorted here and not a parking meter in sight!
We head back into town for a doctor’s appointment for Tony’s back. The doctor feels around and says she thinks he has pinched a nerve, she gives him some hard-core pain relief along with some anti-inflammatories and we head home.
When we are back at the house, we have a teeny, tiny lay down ….and perhaps it was a combination of hangover, heat and no sleep, but we accidentally fall into the deepest sleep of our lives and wake up, disorientated and confused to find out that it is 7pm, and not even entirely sure what day it is. WTF. Thank god we are in Ireland where the sun never goes away and our day can be never ending so we jump up, and head out to reclaim the day.
We visit Gallarus Oratory, a sandstone chapel shaped like an old bee hive hut, it was discovered in 1756, and it is beautiful. It is still boiling hot, but inside the huts it is lovely and cool, we stand inside it and take in the beauty of the structure, as we watch a lone swallow fly in and out of the tiny room over and over again.
We leave the hut behind, and head down to Coumeenoole Beach, with beautiful cliffs and a view that punches you in the face. We are admiring the cliffs and mountain peaks when Tony says (seriously) “they are lovely, and weird shaped, like nipples”. Whatta creep. We walk up to the top, a point called Dunmore Head which is the most westerly point in Europe and the nearest point to the Blasket Islands, we jump the fence to see how far up we can go– we enter a field of about 100 sheep, and one of them is really annoyed, giving us a full stink-eye with some pretty aggressive sounding ‘baas’ … we decide not to go much further, we can take a hint.
We hop back into the car and drive to Dun Choin. Tony and I have tagged each other in about 38473 Instagram posts of this place and never believed we’d ever actually get here, and here we are. In the flesh. Now. It was one of those rare times, when you really soak yourself into a moment. There was no rush, no thoughts of other things, no cares about what else we need to do, or should be doing – just that moment, and us. Sounds wanky I know, but sometimes, it takes a moment like that, to really make you realise….. that you just became more of a wanker.
I could not have ever anticipated how surreal this place is in real life. It feels like we are at the edge of the world, the view of blue waters surrounded by mountains with the most insane sunset that lasted for hours. We realise that falling asleep and missing half of the afternoon was a blessing, because our timing to arrive at this place is perfect. Like, literally – perfect. Is has cooled down (but not too cool, so no whinging necessary). Everything is perfect. The view, the air, the temperature, the silence and Tony Storey. We walk all the way down to the bottom of the steep, winding path and steps, it is so peaceful. There is nobody here. I wander down to the edge, and soak my feet in the ice water. It is so cold that it makes my feet ache, but it feels so nice to absorb myself here. Nobody is here. There’s a beautiful silence as we take in the view, and then Tony’s voice breaks the silence with “I could go a pint”.
We haven’t had dinner, it’s 10pm and the never ending sunset is still hanging on. We don’t want to leave this place, or this moment. It’s our favourite part of the trip so far.
We finally surrender and head back home, we’ve missed our window for dinner so pick up some dirty Chinese and inhale it at the apartment. We finally fall into bed at 1.30am with exhausted legs and indigestion.
It is a morning full of drama when we get up as Tony had hurt his back this week and he has been in a bit of pain, but it had reached a new gear today and he is now in agony with the pain. I find a a physio and get him over there so that he can start to walk without looking constipated.
The drama doesn’t end there – we go home and get Tony’s dad and take him to hospital. He has woken up very disorientated and unwell. It was horrible, and scary for all of us. He wasn’t keen on us taking him to Emergency, but thankfully they push us through straight away and we don’t need to wait in the waiting room which looks like a full cinema, but instead of people eating popcorn, they are holding bandages and ice packs on their wounds, or generally just sitting there with sick, grey faces.
The nurse comes around, and I am reminded why I love Tommy Storey so much. He is really sick, but he is still hilarious.
Nurse: “Thomas Storey? Do you know what year it is?”
Tommy: “2018”
Nurse: “Do you know where you are right now?”
Tommy: “Casablanca” (Smirks).
He gets taken in for an X-Ray, and the girls wheel him in on his bed. When he comes out, I ask him how he went and he says “Didn’t you hear me scream?”…. it turns out the nurses had to first remove the adhesive metal pads that were stuck onto this chest when he was admitted, and took so much white hair from his chest that it look like a small rabbit had died on his sheets. Tony and I laugh at him, and he throws us his signature dry, cheeky smile.
After a few hours, I tell Tommy they are moving him to a cubical, because he is a VIP and he immediately says “more like RIP”… the man is running at 10% and is unstoppable with his gags.
Comedy is about the only thing that gets us all through the next 6 hours in emergency. He has to give a urine sample, and as I hand the container to the doctor I say “here you go, have a drink on us”…I bask in the laughter of the crowd, when suddenly Tony chimes in with “she’s only taking the piss”… and I am immediately reminded how annoying it is when he is funnier than me, which is basically all of the time. Damn you and your hilarious charms Tony Storey.
I put some surgical gloves on and tell Tommy it’s time for his check-up and he laughs and declines the examination. Whateves.
After a long afternoon which involved A LOT of people watching (there is WHOLE other blog that could be written on fake tans), they tell us they are going to admit Tommy as he is really dehydrated and has complications with his diabetes, and his heart and they want to keep him for a few days and get it under control. Fran and Noel come and relieve us from hospital duty so that we can go home. We go home and Fran and Noel meet us there once Tommy was settled in, and we all drink wine and debrief the day. Tony and I go to bed not long after, happy to be home, and happy that Tommy is where he needs to be to get better.
DAY 8
Tony’s back is still really sore, but he’s such bloody trooper, and like me, suffers from FOMO so nothing will keep him from getting out and about today.
We go up to the Shoppo to get some stuff to make for dinner for ma. We drive over to the big major shopping centre in Swords to get Tony’s jacket fixed. Everyone in the shopping centre is excited that Ireland beat Australia in the Rugby and whenever we speak to someone, they remind us. I am not bothered in the least, in fact, to be honest I’d be more inclined to go for Ireland anyway, because a) I’m a little bit Irish b) I love Tony Storey who is a lot Irish and c) I think their Mad-Monday would be way more fun than ours.
We take Tony’s mum up to the hospital to visit Tommy, he seems better and is getting the medication that he needs.
We go home and get ready to go out. Tonight we are meeting a heap of Tony’s friends at a pub which I’m looking forward to as I met them all last time and they are, as they say in Ireland – GAS!
Tony’s brother Andrew comes over and we have a beer with him before we head off.
The night with Tony’s mates is a great laugh, we drink, we laugh and we tell stories. I like them a lot, and wish we could stay longer. I’m fairly pissed by the time we leave and fair to say, less glamorous and with less ability to walk in my heels, yet still adorable. I know right? I don’t know how I do it.
I’m happy that Tony got to hang with his buds and have a night out, he has been doing it tough with his back pain and worrying about his dad, so it’s nice to see him drinking his troubles away, as any good doctor would prescribe.
Day 9
It is another fabulous summer’s day in Dublin and as we’ve had a few rough days with hospital stuff, we are going to milk some of the sunshine and reset ourselves. We head to Clontarf to a café for breakfast and coffee, then to St Anne’s Park, our very favourite spot in Dublin, well, one of them. We know that this will fix us, and it does. The sun is belting down on what is another amazing day. We walk around the park, which is enormous and feels like a fairytale with its lush and green trees and vines, squirrels, castle ruins, little creeks and beautiful gardens, bike paths and walking tracks. Oh I did I mention PEOPLE… there are people everywhere. I love that this country never takes its weather for granted, and you can guarantee when the sun is shining, that every single person is outside. Tony and I lay on the grass in the park, talking and basking in smugness that we have nowhere to be, and we talk about how lucky we are. We hear parents in the distance losing their shit with their children and we smirk smugly at each other knowing that this is not a fight we need to fight today, or for a few more days to come.
We go home and get Tony’s mum and take her to the pub for lunch. The Cock & Bull. We eat lunch and Tony and I have a few pints. Tony’s mum has lemonade but hilariously grabs the pint for a photo. I’m on my second pint when I start to question why on earth the expression “pint sized” is used to describe things that are small. This phrase was obviously coined by someone who never drank pints. They are literally a beer the size of your head.
We visit Tony’s dad in the afternoon, the fact that we are a bit pissed makes the hospital seem more fun. Tommy is in good form, but will be in for a few more days yet. Personally I think they are keeping him to entertain the nurses.
We get home and we are exhausted. Partly from a busy day, and partly because the afternoon pints have worn off and the post-booze sleepiness is kicking in. We lay on the bed, it’s a little bit perfect. We are in Tony’s childhood bedroom, looking out the open window, it is hot but there is a lovely afternoon breeze blowing in, and in the distance – I shit you not – a neighbouring house is playing a U2 album. We listen to them talk and laugh and play their music as we drift off for a bit of a nanna nap. How cool are holidays and naps? Seriously.
I wake with a sore neck, I may have slept on it funny, or perhaps it’s the strain of all the additional chewing I have been doing lately. I may have pulled something.
Andrew comes over and we chat to him for a while, before we decide we need burgers. Need, not want. Instead of taking us into town it took us into a town outside Dublin city centre called Dundrum, and this unexpected detour was awesome. Dundrum is a lovely little town with lovely shops, a beautiful church and an amazing mecca of shops and FOOD. We find Five Guys and get our burger fix and vow to return to work our way through the other food stores that we are surrounded by.
As we wander back to the car, there is an incredible pink and orange streak across the sky as the sun starts to finally think about going down, it’s 10.30pm. There is only a few hours of darkness each night, and it’s fake darkness, more like dimness….which makes it easy to squeeze the shit out of every day, and we certainly know how to do that.
We head home to get ready for bed with our late night burgers sitting firmly in our chest, and ready to turn into more chunk on our love handles overnight.
DAY 10
Today we are going to the Wicklow Mountains, or the Dublin Mountains, depending on who you speak to. The River Liffey starts up in these mountains, around Blessington Lakes, and is the main water supply that feeds through to Dublin, and it runs all the way directly down into the centre of the City. More importantly, every single pint of Guinness gets its water from the River Liffey (the end that doesn’t have shopping trollies in it).
It’s only a short drive from Tony’s parent’s house which is perfect as we don’t want to stray too far from the hospital until Tommy comes home and is back on his feet, but Tony needs a break from the stresses of home and this turns out to be just the right medicine for him, and for me.
As we drive up to the mountains, it is crazy to think we are just an hour from the centre of Dublin city as it feels like we are in the middle of nowhere, just us and a few busloads of yanks, who immediately make us feel better about our holiday weight gain.
We walk along the track and take in the views. Ridiculous. The only word to describe the views, and our fitness levels. It’s hot again today, real hot. It has all the makings of an Australian summer, but without the humidity to fuck up my hair. Still, it is definitely hot enough for me to complain as we walk, climb and explore.
We go to a part of the mountains called Sally’s gap, and we make jokes about Sally and her gap. As we try to one-up each other with each gap gag, I realise that toilet humour and innuendo make up about 65% of our relationship.
We get back in the car to drive to the next walking track and we come across some woods, and we immediately pull the car over to get out and explore, because a) we are all about getting off the beaten track and discovering our own stuff and b) Tony is a photographer and could smell the photo opportunity from about a kilometre away. It is amazing standing the middle of the woods, there is nobody around, nothing but bare tall trees standing close to each other with their bare wooden branches reaching out and touching one another. The only sound is the occasional branch cracking and falling to the ground, and the sound of Tony’s camera clicking.
After Tony gets ‘the shot’, we jump back into the car and head over to Blessington Lakes, on the way we drive through Blessington town, and it’s so cute that we need to get out and explore. We park right in front of a Barber Shop called “Upper Cuts” … pure brilliance really. We are starving so we grab a fresh pork sausage roll and sit in the town people watching. I never tire of listening to the lyrical Irish accents as people walk by having conversations. I also love that Tony Storey’s Irishness has tripled since we got off the plane and he can now be heard saying things like “look at dat dere” ahhh that’s grand, so it is” “fecking ejeet” and has seemingly officially lost the ability to pronounce the ‘h’ in a ‘th’ situation … tanks, the number tree, tirty tree, tirsty etc.
After lunch we head to Blessington Lakes and it is gorgeous. There is only us, and an older English couple who are letting it all hang out, sitting on chairs in the water, smoking cigarettes and living the dream.
We wander along the sand, Tony takes some photos. We skim rocks into the lake and talk about how beautiful it is. Tony says he is going to take me to a surprise place that he hasn’t been since he was a 7 year old boy on a school excursion. I’m excited. We drive for a bit, and secretly hope it’s better than Canberra or Bathurst, where our school excursions were – Yawn.
Shortly after we arrive at the car park and we have to walk about 4km along a gravel up-hill walking path and steps, I can’t see what we are walking towards and I secretly hope that it is worth the trek in this heat. It is. At the very top of the walking path, we reach a place called “The Hell Fire Club”, old church ruins that sits at the top of a hill, overlooking the entire city of Dublin and it is bloody beautiful. Tony takes me through the ruins and tells me how him and his littler friends would climb up the narrow chimney to get to the top, and how the legend had it that you needed to then run 3 times around the church and all the way down to the car park, or the devil would get you. Fun story for kids!
We are meeting Dee and Dave tonight for a night away in Dublin, so we realise we need to fly home, check on Tony’s mum and get her dinner organised, and take off into the city so we make our way down the steep rocky path. I soon realize that if the legend of the devil is true, I am a gonner as there is no way I could run down this hill. With my dodgy knee and ankles, I would be the wounded gazelle at the back of the pack and easy pray for the devil.
We get home, jump in the shower and get ready for our night in the city. I blow dry my hair in 28 degree heat, always a good time.
We meet Dee and David at our Hotel, Dave has booked us rooms at a little place called The House Hotel, a really cool, boutique hotel which has quirky rooms and the bonus of an amazing beer garden outside, where we find our friends outside – who are 2 gins in.
Shortly after we head off for dinner, another winning place booked by Dave & Dee. Sophie’s at the Dean! A rooftop restaurant overlooking all of Dublin. The food is amazing, the wine is fantastic and the company literally makes me smile so big that I just look stupid. Beautiful dinner and drinks with one of my favourite people, and our lovely men? How could this night get any better? I’ll tell you how. Swings. Yep. On the way out of the restaurant, at the lift …. There are 4 wooden swings. One for each of us. True story. I think of all the times in my life time that I have had to wait at lifts, standing there, bored…without a swing. What a waste of my life. This is literally the best invention ever.
There are more cool surprises to come on this fabulous city adventure of ours tonight…Dave has looked up a Speak Easy Bar, basically a secret bar where there is no signage, no advertising and basically no sign that the place even exists – unless you know that it is there, which Dave does. We knock on the old wooden door, there are no lights or signs of life behind it, and just when I feel like this may be a piss-take, someone opens the door, and just like that – we are in! It is a dark, small, super cool bar, with velvet chairs, eclectic décor and cocktails to die for. We all order mules, and then more mules, then some other stuff, and then some more mules….and at closing time, we cab it back to the hotel, which, as it turns out – doubles as a sauna, and we spend the night sweating and swearing about how hot it is. You see, Ireland is so confident that their weather will be mostly freezing that when it is tirty tree degrees, they kind of aren’t prepared.
DAY 11
We wake up and do coffee and breaky with Dee and Dave at the Hotel, and we wander around the city for a little bit, trying to milk every minute of each other before they need to head home to those adorable babies. We hug goodbye, and promise to try to squeeze in another visit before we fly home to Sydney.
It is another stinking hot day and Tony and I do a bit of shopping, a pair of my shoes broke and I need some new ones. I am not much of a shopper and I try to bail several times, and tell Tony that I’m happy to just wear my thongs….but he believes in me, and helps me stay strong and promises me pints if I stick with it….and I find the shoes.
We wander about beautiful Dublin, we go into a lovely church, we sit down and admire it’s beautiful windows, arches and bricks.
We have a pint. A few actually, and we wander through the city a bit pissed, which is tops.
Until we are on our way home and my weak bladder has 3 pints in it … which need to come out. Now. We stop off at Tony’s dodgy old teenage haunt, The Goblet and I run in and marvel at how close I came to wetting my pants as a grown up.
We come home and go to the hospital to see Tommy. Louise and her lovely son Aaron are there too. Tommy sure is loved, and has no time in hospital to feel lonely because there is a revolving door of constant visitors.
We head home, pop a bottle of champagne, drink it with Tony’s mum, and head to bed.
We wake up and do our usual coffee run to “Fuel” cafe in Clontarf, which has fast become our daily ritual. We love this area, and as we drink our coffee there each day and walk along the water front, we pick out what house we would live in, which of course is the nicest one on the block. It’s big and grand with amazing views that we could never afford, but that’s half the fun of being a dreamer.
We head back home and Tony cooks up our favourite breakfast…a little something I like to call the All Ireland Triple Meat deluxe …. Which is basically a sandwich with batch bread (quality carbs) with bacon, Irish sausage and black pudding. Yes it’s probably incredibly high in cholesterol. Yes it may have double my daily required calorie intake. Yes I will most likely have the meat sweats before lunch time. And Yes, it is fecking delicious. I have to say, black pudding has surprised me. I was a little afraid of it last visit, but now I’m all about it, and always on the look-out for my next hit. I think perhaps before I was too focussed on the whole ‘pigs blood’ thing…but once I realised that the pigs blood is broken up by quality, delicious pig fat, it seemed a whole lot less gross.
After breaky, we box up my pigeons (yes, I’m in charge now and have officially been promoted to chief pigeon trainer aka Crazy Bird Lady….and Tommy, Tony and I pop their cage the boot of the car and drive out to where we went the other day to let them go. I suggest maybe going around the round about 4 or 5 times before we stop, to make them dizzy and up their training a little, but Tommy assures me that’s not how it is done. We release them from their cage and there is much less chaos today, they group up pretty quickly and head for home. Impressive. I’m torn between loving them because they are clever, and hating them because they have a better sense of direction than me. I lose my car in a shopping centre car park FFS and these guys with their teeny tiny bird brains are making their way home from god knows where.
We go home to wait for them and find ma in a flap because she can’t find Tommy’s prescriptions and she needs to get his medicine from the chemist. Tommy is sure she had them and she is sure that he had them. We take her down to the clinic to get them reissued and as we get into the car she talks about how one day, she will hit him with a stick. I quietly see my future flash before me, and I get a pretty good tip that men are frustrating dickheads to their wives at all ages, for all time – so strap yourselves in ladies, it doesn’t get any better from here.
On the way back from the clinic, we drop into the Shoppo – which is my favourite part of every Dublin day….I love it so much that today I decide to become a SuperValu Member. I pick up some ingredients because tonight I’m making a coddle for dinner. Yep, I’m cooking a traditional Irish meal, for an Irish family…in Ireland. No pressure or anything. We buy Tony’s mum a slow cooker, because we are in the business of changing lives. Tony’s parents both think it’s brilliant and ask me questions that can’t answer about slow-cooker cooking, but I make some stuff up because I’ve never been seen as a cooking expert before, and I quite like it. “um yeh sure, you can put eggs in it….why not?” …..
After I’ve put the coddle into the slow cooker and set it to high, Tony and I tell his folks that we are heading out for a few hours. They ask if they need to do anything with the dinner, and when I tell them ‘nope’ – they are in amazement of this magical slow cooker contraption. I literally leave like David Copperfield with my audience on the edge of their seats, and will return when dinner is ready.
Tony and I head up to Howth Summit which is a mash of all of the most beautiful things that mother -nature could throw into one place. Cliffs, beach, lush green hills, rocks and ocean. Last time we were here it was spring time, and the place was covered in yellow gorse bush, rugged and dry. It is summertime now, and it is completely different but equally as beautiful. It is lush and green and takes our breath away as soon as the view comes into sight. It is magic. At first, visibility is limited – we are high up and feel as though we are in the middle of the cloud as the fog is thick. Within minutes of us standing there at the top of the summit, the clouds move, the fog lifts, like the curtain lifting at a stage show … the sun shines, and it feels like it is just for us.
We walk along the track, surrounded by long lush, green grass – at first I’m nervous about snakes, an inbuilt part of being Australian, but Tony assures me that there are none. Besides, Ireland doesn’t need snakes, as it has so many stingers in the plants, grass and weeds and I literally get stung about 5 times in 20 metres of walking.
We walk along a flat part of the track, chatting happily when IT happened. This will sound weird. It may even sound like a piss-take. But trust me on this one, because I am probably the biggest cynic on the planet and if I could not believe this shit, I would. As we were walking along, we both – at exactly the same time, at exactly the same part of the track – started to run, involuntarily as though we were being pushed, for about 10 metres. When we stopped, we both looked at each other in confusion, asking each other what just happened, trying to work out what happened. Was there a hill? It’s flat ground? What was happening then? Jesus. Tony was convinced there must have been a ‘presence’ there, and I humoured him though I wasn’t convinced (cynic) but at the same time, I couldn’t explain what other type of fuckery this could be. Coincidentally, Tony then looks to his camera, which had a freshly charged battery that he put into it before we got out of the car – and it had gone flat, right then.
We move past our confusion, and keep walking along the track and come to a big set of steep stairs which we take all the way down to the bottom, which leads to a beautiful little beach, with pink rocks, incredible views and seals in the water. It is all so much to take in, this place is magic.
We walk back up the stairs (not as much fun as it was coming down)…and we are breathless at the top, reminding me that perhaps I should have got a gym membership instead of a SuperValu membership.
We wander back slowly, and as we approach the part of the track where we were ‘pushed’, Tony walks it the other way again to see if perhaps there was a slope on the path that we couldn’t see at the time. Nothing. It’s flat ground. He is walking normally. Then as we are about to walk off, we notice a plaque from a man who had died there. For real. RIP Alan! No need to push.
We can’t believe it, and decide to go for a pint at the Summit Hotel to talk about it some more, as I’m sure everybody does when they have had their first paranormal experience. We have 2 pints, and get a bit pissy, and then remember I have coddle on the slow cooker and we race home to rescue it.
The coddle is a huge hit, and we all soak our bread into it and everybody marvels at what a great cook I am. I smile, knowing that I’m a total fraud, but somehow I’m OK with it. To be sure.
We watch TV with Tony’s folks, and bask in the banter of their hilarious randomness.
Tony’s Mum: “remember before the First World War, there was a man that killed 6 sisters, he was a Russian…who was it?
Tony’s Dad: “Mariah Carey”
If that’s not a mic drop, then I don’t know what is. This man has the driest, quickest and most glorious sense of humour of all time and he needs his own TV show.
Tony’s dad spends the next half an hour falling asleep in his chair – waking up, sipping his beer, then falling back asleep. Was there ever a more brilliant way to power nap? The man is a genius.
Tony’s brother Andrew comes over, we sit and talk and watch the football and we all enjoy some more Tommy & Maureen classic gold, and I fall asleep on the sofa, you know, because I don’t want Tommy to feel like he is on his own.
Good night.
DAY 6
This morning we have an appointment at the hospital for Tony’s dad. We get coffee first which makes us nicer people. Tony has woken with a bad back, and while we sit waiting for Tommy’s appointment, I dig his walking stick into the sore part of Tony’s back, which made for an effective, yet unorthodox massage. We only realise that it a little weird when a man walks past and looks strangely at us, wondering if he should call for help as I stood there jamming a walking stick into a man’s back as he grimaces.
The nurse comes to see Tommy and is checking him over. She ducks away to get something and Tommy tells us that last time he came, he forgot to bring money for the car-park and the nurse kindly gave him a fiver. He said that he always forgets to pay her back, so Tony gives him $5 so that he can repay her. When she returns, Tommy hands her the money, and she has clearly forgotten all about the car-park loan, and immediately steps back, clearly alarmed, with her hands in the air and says “I’m sorry Tommy, but we aren’t allowed to accept tips here”…. Tommy, Tony and I literally laugh about this all day.
After we drop Tommy home, set him up with his medicine, we duck down to the Shoppo, because we need to grab some supplies, and also because I am a member and I want to flash around my card. We head home, we pack our stuff and head to Kilkenny to see our beautiful friends Dee and Dave and their new babies Elliott and Sadie!
Dee is one of my favourite humans on the planet. She gets me and I get her. She makes me laugh until I make no sound, and we have been friends for a million years. We send each other long winded WhatsApp Voice recordings most days, laughing, crying and giving blow by blow accounts of our daily lives, so we are fairly well caught up at all times…but since we were here last she has had babies and I am out of my head with excitement about getting my hands on them!
I bolt into the house as soon as we arrive and start to squeeze, sniff and love the babies. They. Are. Ridiculous. I am immediately in love with them, and it’s so wonderful to see our friends as parents.
The babies go to bed and Dave makes us gin, and we sit in the kitchen of their beautiful house, overlooking country Kilkenny drinking, laughing and catching up. It is like no time has ever passed between our visits, and it makes me feel grateful to be here, sitting right in front of her, laughing, talking and picking up where our last voice message left off.
Dave is an amazing photographer, and so is Tony – and they fell in love when they met during our last visit. Seeing them reunited is as hilarious as it is nauseating. They tell each other how amazing they are, they swap camera information, talk lenses, and all things technology. Dee and I laugh about how we both ended up falling in love with adorable geeks.
Dave & Tony are constantly taking photos, and when I sense the camera on me, I instantly stick my middle finger up my nostril, to be hilarious and gross at the same time, yet still somehow adorable. Dee tells me that I will never be a photographer’s wife if I keep up that type of behaviour and don’t help with the shots, and she falls into the required candid pose that they were looking for. She is a seasoned muse. I laugh and vow to practise not wrecking Tony’s photos. Must. Resist.
The 4 of us sit in front of the fire in the yard, drinking and talking until the wee hours and Dee remembers that there are 2 small humans who will wake her early, so she heads to bed and we follow soon after, because we fear that the may also wake us early.
We wake up a little dusty, but Dave’s super fry up breakfast soon sorts us out. We all talk about black pudding, bacon and sausages and how amazing the trio are together. We brainstorm ideas about the café that we would open, it will be called “Meat Sweats” and we will serve nothing but breakfast meats, and the heart attacks will be complimentary.
In the spirit of keeping their bromance alive, the boys decide to take Boggins (adorable puppy) for a walk in the woods. I’m 62% sure they would have been holding hands at least part of the way. Dee and I stay home and I basically spend the entire time holding, feeding, squeezing and playing with the babies. They are so bloody cute that I need to keep reminding myself that biting into a baby’s chunky thigh is frowned upon. Must. Resist.
We head into town, and I’m excited. Kilkenny is one of my favourite towns in Ireland. It’s a medieval town oozing with history, cool bars, cafes, boutiques and, you know, a giant frigging castle! It is just so cool. All of it.
Dee and I push the prams around chatting, wandering around the grounds and gardens of Kilkenny Castle, with the precious cargo inside the prams not making a single sound. The boys are off taking photos and talking lense-porn.
After lunch, we say goodbye to Dee and Dave, but we have plans to see them for a night in town and we will be crashing in a hotel – no babies – just craic, and a couple of dudes in love.
Tony and I have a cheeky pint in the Left Bank hotel and then we head off to see the Rock of Cashel. A spectacular group of medieval buildings up on a big glorious, green hill. The view is crazy. The buildings date back to the 11th century. We walk around taking it in, we sit up on the hill looking out over the view. I’m in awe. It literally takes a minute to absorb it all.
We see some ruins in the distance, but it’s clearly not a tourist attraction like the Rock of Cashel, it’s in the middle of a big field, and there are rock fences surrounding it. We decide to walk down to check it out. On the way down, I realise I’m dressed for lunch in Kilkenny, not off-roading to some ruins in the middle of nowhere. I take my boots and socks off, tuck my dress into my undies so that it doesn’t drag along the dirt and I dodge the cow shit with my bare feet as we make our way over to them, throwing my hand bag over the rock fences to climb them as we make our way in. What. A. Lady.
We jump over the final fence, and discover that – this place is beautiful. It is so quiet, and still that it is eerie. The structure itself is beautiful. Tony is in camera heaven and I try to come good on my promise to be a better muse and attempt to do his requested poses without laughing or flipping the bird. 1 out of 2 ain’t bad. Baby steps.
We are the only people in here, and it is just amazing. We touch the bricks, we look out the windows and we imagine what these walls have seen. To stand in places like this, steeped in history, is such an incredible experience, and just another thing that makes this country so unique.
We decide to make a move as it is almost 8.30pm, not that you would know it, because it is so light that it may as well be midday. By the time we reach home it’s 10pm, still light and still the right time to stop for some chicken balls, chips and curry sauce (is there ever a wrong time?).
We sit up and eat them talking to Tony’s mum and dad, and getting a little bit of the Tommy & Maureen Storey show before we head to bed.
We wake early, like offensively early, because we are doers and we want to get a start on the day. Well that, but mostly jet lag. My body is generally dazed and confused, the jet lag is one thing, but this city never turns it’s lights off – it is light at night until 11pm and light again at 3.30am.
We head down to Clontarf for a walk along the water followed by some coffee and breakfast in a café. It is beautiful down here, it is crisp and cool but the air is lovely, and I hold Tony’s hand because I love him, and also he has the Irish blood which means it is like holding a hand-shaped electric blanket. It is like a ghost town as we walk around, not a soul in sight and cafes don’t open until 9am or 10am. Tony explains to me that everyone would be hungover as it’s Sunday morning. Fair call. Just another reason that I feel at home here.
Whatever their reason for the late opening, we forgive them when our coffee and breakfast arrive! Coffee is good and breakfast is delicious. I’ve become addicted to black pudding and inhale it along with eggs and avocado. BTW – Avocados are 79c each here. Can’t you believe it? It immediately makes me consider stacking a few into my suitcase before I come home, knowing that I will probably end up on one of those Customs TV shows pretending not to speak English and faking confusion that bringing fresh produce from another country is a no no. Still, probably worth the risk.
It is Father’s Day here, so we go home and get ready to go out for lunch with Tony’s folks.
When Tony’s mum was getting dressed, she calls me for help in her bedroom. She had somehow got her earring caught on her new top when it was half way over her shoulders. She is stuck in position, arms in the air, and ear connected to her shoulder. I didn’t know where to start. I promise her that I won’t laugh at her until we’ve fixed it, but it was pretty hard – and she got the giggles too. It took me a while but I unhook it from her ear and then from her top. She then told me that her next problem was that she’d never worn the top before and thinks she should have got the bigger size as it was stuck over one of her shoulders. She was wedged.
I reassure her that I’ve lived this many times and help her twist it over her body, trying not to break her little arms as I contort her and yank at the material begging it to slide over without breaking any bones.
For what is was worth, once it was on – the top looked lovely. She laughs and says it feels tight and wonders how we will get it off after lunch. I tell her I’ve long had dreams of being a paramedic, and I’ll cut it off for her, because I can’t see another way which doesn’t involve her in intensive care. We laugh our heads off and head to lunch. She looks so gorgeous. This woman is how I want to be at the same age, she dresses up, accessorizes and is never seen without lipstick. She is nearly 86 and she walks to the Shoppo each day, does her groceries and walks home. She cooks a mean stew, is funny and doesn’t miss a trick. Nothing gets past her. Well, this top nearly didn’t, but that’s all sorted for now and we head off for lunch.
We choose the pub that we went to the other night, The Cock & Bull, which is just around the corner and has great food, pints and service. We sit and eat and tell stories, and we laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Tony’s dad, Tommy has such a dry-wit and great sense of humour and his stories and endlessly entertaining. The pub is bursting with atmosphere, and Tony, Tommy and I all drink pints, while Tony’s mum has lemonade but promises to hit the brandy when we get home.
Tommy admires the pint glasses that the pub has, plenty of time to admire them as we are ordering quite a few. When we get home, we give him his father’s day card, along with the pint glass that I had slipped into my handbag for him. He was delighted, and thought it was hilarious that I had nicked it for him. Not my first time Tommy. Not my first time.
It’s fair to say that Tony and I are a bit pissy at this point, but before we move on and crack open some of the bottles of wine that we have bought for tonight, we go outside to feed Tommy’s homing pigeons. Naturally.
Tommy built the loft for them which would house up to 70 pigeons. He trains them and races them, not as much as he would like anymore, but it has always been his passion. I am so intrigued by the idea of it. It doesn’t add up … birds in a cage, you drive them a long way away, and they somehow know how to get home. It’s insane. I don’t know my way around even when I use a map, but these birds have some sort of inbuilt GPS. We walk around the loft, Tony explaining to me how it all works and how he used to help his dad when he was a kid, and going with his dad to train them.
The loft itself is like the bird version of the Hilton, it has bedrooms and features that would rate pretty high on Trip advisor for birds. Tony gives me seed to hold out for the pigeons knowing full well that I would end up with about 25 birds trying to fly into the palm of my hand. To Tony’s amusement, I shit myself. And it looked a little like this……
We go back inside and crack open our wine and start drinking again with Tony’s parents. Tony’s dad is of course drinking from his new pint glass. The gift that keeps on giving really.
Fran and Noel pop in and have a drink with us too and wish Tommy Happy Father’s Day. We all sit in the lounge room, drinking and having a laugh.
After they leave, Tony’s mum comes down stairs with a change of top, and I know it is time. I start to wonder if I have maybe had too many drinks to pretend to be a paramedic, but I trust my own ability and grab the scissors. I cut down the back of her top, trying not to clip any of her skin … she is laughing, I am laughing, Tony and Tommy are laughing and there were no band-aids required.
Tony and I have a few more drinks, still talking away to Tony’s folks and we manage to have our latest night so far, heading to bed at about 11pm and I didn’t remember much about bed time but was quietly impressed with myself the next day for navigating the tiny spiral staircase to get up to my bedroom. Props to me.
Day 4
Owch. We wake up slow, sore and confused about how we could possibly feel this shit. Our bodies aren’t right. Tony’s farts are alien, it appears that the booze has replaced his insides with dead animals. It is the closest that I have ever come to ending our relationship.
The 3 empty wine bottles in the kitchen give me a better understanding of why I feel like death. I blame Ireland.
We go back down to Clontarf hunting for good coffee and wander around at the water front, hoping that the beautiful view and caffeine will make my head forget how sore it is.
We go home to get Tommy. Today we are taking him and some of his pigeons to do a training run – where we drive somewhere, release them and then come home and wait for them to return. I’m pumped. On the drive out there, Tommy falls asleep, leaving Tony to try to figure out where we are going…and we laugh as we realise that the pigeons in the boot are the only ones in the car that actually might know where we are.
Tommy wakes up just in time to tell Tony where to turn off, and we stop at a park near the motorway. We sit the cage on the grass, and Tommy explains to me that they are orientating themselves before we open the door and release them. He tells me that nobody knows how they do it, or how they know where the hell they are going, and he tells me stories of carrier pigeons where people would send messages for them to deliver home. I tell the boys we should pop a note on one the neck of one of the birds letting Tony’s mum know to pop the kettle on for us as we are on our way.
Shortly after, I get to open the latch, the birds fly out in different directions. We watch the sky and they all fly around in some sort of organised bird-chaos, scattering everywhere and I imagine the conversation, as they fly around “where the fuck are we”…”it’s left I think?”…”no Trevor, it’s definitely right”…. Whatever their strategy, they seem to figure it out, as they slowly they form a group…..flying around in a circle together. Synchronized. Like the gracious dancing that I do with my girlfriends. Once they have their circle sorted, they all fly off together, without even asking for directions.
We leave shortly after to drive home. Tommy sleeps. Tony drives, and I sit in the back with my head up to the sky trying to spot them out the window all the way home.
We are home for about 30 minutes, and like magic, they start to arrive one by one to the Pigeon Hilton, and let themselves in with their room key. I guess when you think about it, why wouldn’t they want to come back? Beats being fed bread in the park by a toddler desperate to grab you by the neck.
Tony and I decide to go into the city this afternoon for a walk around. I love Dublin city, with it’s cobblestone paths and beautiful old buildings. There is always a hive of excitement and atmosphere, and it is brimming with a charm that is so unique to Dublin. It’s special.
We stop for a pint at a place called The Hairy Lemon, one of Tony’s old drinking holes. I love going to places he went to when he was young, and watch his face as he tells me the stories and reminisces about his drunken young man days.
We are starving and still hungover. I tell Tony that I’ve been thinking about burgers since about 5am and he reminds me of a place that our mate Dave went to a while back and he boasted that they were possibly the best burgers ever made. I’m in. It is an American Burger joint called Five Guys, and Dave wasn’t joking. The world stood still for the 3 minutes that it took me to eat it. I don’t even remember chewing. The fries were incredible too, and I wash it all down with some Nurofen and some of Tony’s coke. We are feeling almost immediately better. There really isn’t much that burgers can’t fix.
The fact that Tony still loved me after watching me annihilate a burger with a category 5 hangover, obviously means he doesn’t scare easy. This love is for reals.
We stop in at another one of Tony’s old haunts – The Bleeding Horse, a place where he used to drink with his old work mates, who is still great friends with. He sends a message to one of them who still works around the corner, Cyril, a lovely French man who I met last time we were here. Within a couple of minutes, he appears – much to Tony’s delight and we have a pint and banter. These are the moments that make me happiest. Tony with his family, Tony with his friends. I mean, of course this happens in Australia, as he has many friends – but there’s something about seeing him at home with the people who shaped him, who hold his childhood memories and the memories of him as a 20 year old Tony living it up on a Friday night. It is special and makes me feel happy and grateful to be able to be here with him to share it.
We wander into Mark’s Models, where we went last time, and a place where Tony used to go as a kid, and he is like a kid in a candy store. He buys a model airplane, and is happy. He couldn’t be cuter if he tried.
We walk into Trinity College, one of my favourite places in the city. It is grand and beautiful and I can’t believe that people get to study there. Talk about incentive. It is glorious. We sit down on the steps and watch the people go by, and take in the beauty of the buildings around us.
After sitting down, we finally, officially realise that have outdone ourselves on a hangover and we surrender and head home.
Tony’s mum has cooked up an Irish Stew, and we have no trouble finding room for it before we sit on the sofa, watching the football with his folks, and my 6 chins and I fall asleep on the couch within about 3 minutes.
It is happening! We are going back! Ireland! An adventure, a sequel … and for Tony Storey, a home coming.
As soon as he booked the tickets, we promised that we would have weekends of planning and researching what we wanted to do, where we’d stay. Oh the planning we would do. I don’t need to tell you that it didn’t happen.
Well, there was this one time we went to breakfast and took a big map with us …we drew about 3 circles on the map and ate our breakfast, and almost left without said map, which was now covered in rings from our coffee mugs. Oh and we also have tagged each other in about 384832 Irish travel Instagram posts, so technically we did more planning than last time anyway.
Besides, last time we had the most amazing adventure, and didn’t plan a single day of it, so as a couple of ‘chancers’ – we will chance it.
It’s a Thursday morning, we are packed, and ready to go. Sort of. Well, Tony has a pants emergency and we need to rush over to Westfield and buy him some pants before we go. I have visons of him in Ireland in nothing but his jocks, and even though we’ve had word from Ireland that there is a heat wave over there at the moment – I know he’ll need more than jocks. I reassure him that if we focus, and work together – we can make time for the shopping trip for pants, and still get to the airport on time.
We race through Westfield as though we are on Super Market Sweep, literally running down escalators and rummaging through racks in stores, scoring 2 pairs of pants, a belt and a jacket for Tony in record time. Never one to be left out, I also get some pants from Zara, because you just never know.
We speed home, lock the doors, call an Uber and are on our way! When we arrive, the check-in line is huge, and we wait….and wait…and wait. I am forced to break into our bag of flight-snacks, eating my way down the queue. We people watch, and ponder the serious things in life – like how the female airport check-in staff get their hair so slick and tight. We finally check-in, race through security, we grab toasted sandwiches and some water and bolt towards our gates, bags in one hand and inhaling our toasties with the other. Multitasking.
We board our flight, Tony scores the window seat and is happy. I am the middle seat of the row of 3. I wait nervously, watching passengers walk down the aisle as I wait to see who will be sitting on the other side of me in 61K. I have flashbacks of our last long haul flight, where I was wedged between a Tony and a 120kg giant for 14 hours, and it is fair to say that I was not living my best life. It is high risk. And for anything over 8 hours, there really should be an interview process, or a passenger version of tinder at the very least. Each person that walks past, we whisper a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to each other. We end up with a small Irish man. He smelled of cigarettes, and as though he’d come off a bender, but seemed friendly enough, and I would still rather it over not seeing my arm rest for the duration of the flight. All in all, we are pretty happy. Happy that is, until we discover….2 rows in front….There. Is. A. Baby.
Baby cries. We look at each other with panic in our eyes. Shortly after, things are quiet and we are relieved. We are talking away, while our mate in 61K is watching Alien on his TV screen, and laughing his head off as though he was watching Monty Python. Suddenly, there is a spray of mystery liquid from 2 rows ahead which wets the people in front of us, and we get drops of secondary spray – which lands directly on Tony’s new pants. I literally cannot stop laughing at this point and almost have to access the emergency oxygen mask. The mystery fluid has come from the baby up ahead, and the topic becomes less hilarious as we throw ideas around about what the mystery fluid might be. Babies don’t have any kind of liquid associated with them that isn’t gross.
Moments later, things are calm. We have spot cleaned Tony’s new pants, our mate in 61K is still enjoying the comedy of Alien, when we hear the sound of death. The baby is back. And this time it has a flute. Yep. A fucking flute. Which I basically feel has been given to her for the point of this blog. It just feels like a set-up.
Half an hour into the flight, and approximately 4 seconds after the flute playing begins – I order my first wine, because after all, there is nothing like a warm chardonnay to drown out a woodwind instrument on a long haul flight.
Seriously though. Putting the obvious etiquette to passengers aside, what kind of parent would even want to hear their baby (or any kid of any age for that matter), play a flute on a plane? Or at all. I’m so confused.
Tony and I talk non-stop for the first 4 hours of the flight, chatting happily and I realise that one of the many reasons that I love him, besides being an endless source of entertainment for me, is that he is the guy that I can sit with for hours, who understands my limited attention span, my need to be doing stuff and my resistance to boredom. He indulges me and plays my made-up games to kill the time, including some pretty gross ‘would you rather’ scenarios. He is literally one of my favourite people to hang out with. We are on a ridiculously long flight, and weirdly, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.
Flute wielding baby cries again. Enter wine #2.
We manage to get through most of the flight without sleeping, which was our plan to try to avoid jet lag. Fairly easy for me since I’m a plane owl anyway. We watch movies, listen to music and talk, finally getting off at Abu Dhabi for some revolting McDonalds, only slightly better than revolting plane food.
We have 2 and a half hour wait before we board our final leg to Dublin, a 9 hour flight, and it can’t come soon enough. It is 2.30am and it’s fair to say, we’re a little over it.
We board the plane, and wait for it to take off. There is some screaming and drama up the back of the plane and somebody yells “is there a doctor on board?” … never a good sign. Lots of heads turning, we haven’t taken off yet, and we wonder what is happening. Word spreads down the aisle that a man is unwell up the back of the plane, and they are calling doctors to check him out before we take off. Turns out, instead of a plane, this guy needs to catch an ambulance, so after about an hour, they get him off the plane – and then let us know that they will try to find his bags as soon as possible and we can get on our way.
Hmmm hundreds of passengers, and twice as many suitcases – this shouldn’t take long. This was a test in humanity for me, I was stuck somewhere between “jeez, I hope he’s OK” and “for fucks sake, get him off and let’s go”. 2 hours later, we finally leave the tarmac.
After 9 hours (11 if you include our tarmac pause), we see glimpses of beautiful Ireland in all its green glory from the sky. Tony is a bit teary. He says he is happy he is home, and happy that I am next to him. I am teary too, because I am happy that he is happy. That, and I’m delirious from being awake for over 30 hours.
Before we know it, we are drinking tea and eating batch bread in the lounge room with Tony’s mum and dad. It’s brilliant to see them, they are delighted to have their boy home, and who wouldn’t be? He’s delightful.
I love them. We sit together talking and laughing, and it feels like we’ve never left.
Later in the day, we visit Tony’s sister Fran, and his niece Emma, her son Jake – official title holder of Most Animated 6 year old in Ireland….and we meet her new baby, little Ryan – who is all kinds of beautiful, and who I am 92% sure has eye lash extensions. My uterus literally skips a beat.
We catch up with Fran and Emma, listening to Jake’s stories, and watch some of his dancing … he is mildly impressed when I show him that I too, can floss like a boss. I knew that skill would come in handy eventually. We head back home and Tony’s other niece, Louise arrives with her 5 daughters, who are all gorgeous and freakishly well behaved. 5 kids in one room and nobody crying, wrestling or kicking off. None of this makes sense to me!
I play with the girls, wondering if Louise would notice if I took one … after all, we need a girl to break up some of testosterone in a family of 5 men….and me.
Later, Tony and I go to the Cock & Bull for a pint in the afternoon, it feels lime the longest day in history but in true Jaynie & Tony form, we are determined to milk every second of it. On the way home we stop to pick up some….. wait for it…… chicken balls, chips and curry sauce to take home for dinner with the folks. Perfection. I start to remember how I put on 5 kilos in 3 weeks last time we came here. It’s all coming back to me now. Ahhh well, you only live once, and what’s the point of having fat pants if you don’t wear them.
We head to bed at 7pm, and we are happy to be tucked away in our Irish home.
Happiness.
Day 2 – Shoppo, headbuts and rollerskates
We wake up – not knowing how brilliant today is going to be. We plan to have a quiet day, Tony is coming down with the flu, and we are still fairly tired, and keen to spend a day doing normal stuff with Tony’s parents.
Tony fries up some black pudding and bacon for Breaky and we head down to the shoppo with his mum, chatting away, wandering down the aisles of the supermarket as she pushes her trolley around like a boss. She goes off to the hairdressers to get her hair done, as she does every Saturday and Tony and I wander around killing time while we wait for her. The locals are putting it on for us today, every shop we go into there is friendly, happy banter and it instantly makes us feel happy.
We see a little bakery, decide to grab a chocolate éclair and custard slice and some coffees, and we sit in the middle of the shopping centre, people watching as we inhale some more calories that we don’t need. Then it happens. We hear some yelling in a shop nearby, and look over to see Shopping Centre Security telling a man to leave the store, he doesn’t appear to like being told what to do, and is going OFF. He storms out of the store, still arguing with the security guards. There is a bit of a scuffle, and he literally head butts the guard. Right in front of us. Tony and I are ringside, and whilst I find this stuff hard to watch sometimes, I literally can’t look away. Amazingly, his sunglasses remained on his head throughout the headbutt, clearly not his first time. The crowd has gathered, and it is obviously that this is going to be the most exciting part of all of our day. The guy somehow storms off, and the security guards are calling police, as they have decided against putting on a chase, as one of them has a bit of a headache now.
Once the crowd dies down, and the show is over, we wander about, buying bits and pieces that we’ll need for our trip. We wander pass the hairdressers to check on Tony’s mum, she’s under the hair dryer living the dream.
Tony stops at the ATM to get some cash, and I tell him I’m going into the chemist next door to look for some tape for his knee (he’s old and has many ailments)….and as I walk into the chemist, I see the man who is at large. After he has just head-butt a man, escaped, then returned to the scene of the crime – to try on some aftershave. I run outside to Tony to immediately report this exciting development. Tony comes inside, and we stand in the chemist waiting for everything to implode. It doesn’t take long. The ‘headbuttee’ security guard returns with 2 mates, one who looks like super Mario. The men grab him, twisting his arm as they remove him from the shop, he is yelling at them that they are hurting his arm, which seems a funny complaint when just moments ago he had thrown the weight of his head into another human’s skull.
The man’s girlfriend is involved now, she runs from the prescriptions counter (Valium for her BF perhaps?) and she comes from nowhere and starts hitting the security guards like Ronda Rousey. The scuffle moves down the shopping centre and we cannot believe the action at Northside Shopping Centre in Coolock at 9.45am. Brilliant.
We pick up ma from the hairdressers and we all head home still talking about the action filled trip to the Shoppo.
Tony and I head out to St Anne’s Park, we have missed this place. It was one of our favourite places from our last trip, we spent so many sunrises, sunsets and middle of the days laying on the grass, exploring it’s beautiful pathways, talking about Tony’s childhood, watching ducks make love and it just kind of became ‘our place’ so we were excited to get back there.
At Christmas, Tony bought me my dream roller skates that I had missed out on as a kid – the white Xanadu ones that every 9 year old girl wanted. Pretty amazing huh? Well, wait for it. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more amazing – the man has packed my roller skates to bring on this trip so that I could roller skate in St Anne’s Park. Seriously. And here we are! This. Is. Happening.
I am so happy that my head is about to explode and I skate around like a total knob, with small kids looking up confused, and I’ve totally lost my ability to be embarrassed or give a shit. I am literally 9 years old right now. Tony is happily snapping away at the park’s beauty with his camera and we are both so happy we could vomit. He walks alongside me and I skate around next to him, the sun is shining and life is good.
Day 2 and we’ve peaked. A live show with a head-butt and now roller-skating in my favourite place.
We head over to see Fran and Noel at their house and spend a few hours chatting and laughing with them and then we drive home. We stop off for some people watching with a side of dinner and pints. A pint a day, keeps the skinny jeans away. I am on day 2 and already I have outdone myself with food, booze and calories. Skillz.
We wake up still broken and feeling hungover without having had anything to drink. Our bodies paying the price for our epic 14 hour adventure yesterday.
Aingel makes us another fab breakfast and we hug her and say goodbye to her like an old friend and head into Galway for coffee. I have once again done my research for a good coffee but it is a bit of a fail. We walk through Galway city and comment on how cool and busy it is, and we jump in the car ready for our next stop – Donegal.
As we drive through the countryside of Galway, it has a beautiful, ruggedness about it. We stop to walk around, the earth is spongy under our feet and there are spring lambs everywhere – how delicious! I mean, cute. As we drive into Mayo, another Irish speaking town, the green returns and the landscape changes once again. We drive through a town called Cong, a tidy little village with a river running along the side, and the usual suspects – book shop, cafes, chipper and a pub.
The drive up to Donegal is amazing, more incredible scenery, more getting out to ohhh and ahhh and take photos, more talking about how lucky we are to see this – and of course, the weather is on our side once again and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Smug AF.
We arrive at our Air B&B and after driving around in circles, getting wrong directions and information from the owners, and an initial terrifying moment where it looked as though we had actually been booked into a hostel, we finally got our key to our apartment, which had beautiful water views – and not a backpacker in sight, thankfully.
We have dinner in a town called Aradarra at a place the Nisbett Arms Hotel with Tony’s nephew Noely and his wife Fiona, who live up in this part of the beautiful country. Lucky ducks. We eat a brilliant meal, Tony has a steak, and I have chicken. Tony’s steak was amazing, he lets me taste it and I get food envy because even though my chicken was delicious, he has clearly won dinner so we vow to come back tomorrow so I can get my head down into the one that got away. We eat, drink and laugh a lot over dinner, and I quickly forget that I am a new to the gang, they are so friendly and familiar which makes me soon forget about my plan to be on my best behaviour and I drink many wines, because you know, I’m even more hilarious and adorable when I drink. We go to a fantastic pub afterwards that plays Irish music and I drink more wines that I don’t need, we stumble out and get a cheese burger that I don’t need, from a street van and we head home with sore cheeks from laughing, and I love Noely and Fiona, and I love Tony, and I love Ireland, and I love wine. Hiccup. Sleep.
Day 11
I wake up feeling every single one of those wines that I sunk last night. Owch. Tony gets word from Noely and Fiona that they kept drinking a whopping 3 hours after we left and I instantly feel disappointed in myself. I have let myself go in my later years. I used to be the queen of this shit. In my hey-day I would have been there til the end and started the party again today. Not so. Instead, it’s Panadol, an ugly head and a fair bit of moaning from me up until we decide to set out to find “The Pod” a gorgeous little coffee van that we found on Instagram that sets up at the top of a beautiful big cliff in Donegal with a bullshit view and the promise of amazing coffee. If ever I wished anything to be true, it was today.
We were not disappointed, the coffee was incredible and the view was even better. This moment – this coffee and this view are literally worth every single watery, shit coffee we have had since we arrived.
We sit there drinking our coffee and taking it all in, we are little later to get moving than usual today because we are hung-over, old and slow, but over coffee, Tony says “do you want to do the Giant’s Causeway today?”….now nothing really is lining up for this to happen – it’s late morning, we are drinking coffee with hangovers, and the Giant’s Causeway is hours away, we haven’t packed or planned anything, and we don’t really know any details … so naturally we both say “why not?” and jump in the car and head off. This is classic Jaynie & Tony behaviour, and it has worked a treat for us every step of this holiday, so we are sticking with this unplanned holiday behaviour strategy.
On the drive, we pass a field of rapeseed flowers – those bright yellow highlighter flowers that I had vowed to run through before the end of the trip, so we stop to get among it. It is so so beautiful. Bright, yellow, happy flowers literally everywhere and it is literally impossible not to smile. We walk around in them, we take selfies and I tick it off my Ireland bucket list.
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It is a little weird driving into Northern Ireland, especially when Vodafone sends us text messages welcoming us to the UK. We talk about how this part of the country part of the UK, which seems weird, a little sad and makes absolutely no sense to me why one chunk of a country belongs to another. We talk about the history behind it, and the unrest that filled the country for so many years. As soon as we cross the border we immediately notice subtle changes in road signs and surrounds which now have a UK flavour.
We arrive at The Giants Causeway which lies at the foot of the basalt cliffs along the sea coast on the edge of the Antrim plateau. It is made up of some 40,000 massive black basalt columns sticking out of the sea and is freaking ridiculous. There is a beautiful walk along and throughout the rocks and the whole thing is crazy beautiful. Seriously – hexagonal rocks, some creating staircases that you would swear were man-made. Nothing makes sense – it is nature at its most ridiculous.
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Today is hot, like short-sleeve kind of hot and even though we’re right along the coastline, the only wind I can feel is Tony’s.
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After the Giant’s Causeway, we drive to the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge which had a view that almost didn’t seem like it could belong to Ireland. We could have been in the Mediterranean or the Whitsundays with the incredible blue turquoise colour of the crystal clear ocean around us. The walk down the rope bridge is picturesque, and I think this is probably the most beautiful part of this country (Ireland, to be clear) that I have seen so far – and is most certainly the best cure for a hangover because I feel brand new.
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At the end the beautiful walk down, and connected to the cliffs by a rope bridge across the Atlantic Ocean is Carrick-a-Rede Island (home to a single building – a fisherman’s cottage). Suspended almost 100 ft (30 m) above sea level, the rope bridge was first erected by salmon fisherman 350 years ago. And yes, I am as impressed as you that I just used the word ‘erected’ in a grown up sentence, even though I was smirking as I typed it.
The view is so clear that we can actually see Scotland in the distance. Scotland! For real. We walk across the bridge, and are annoyingly smug because once again there are hardly any tourists here and we practically have the place to ourselves. Golden I tell ya! We. Are. Golden.
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After the bridge, we wander down the other side, there is a big open area where some big fight scene from Game of Thrones was filmed, neither of us have ever seen any episodes, of the show but we are pretty sure it’s a big deal. The track ends but we keep going and climb along the rocks, where we find sea caves. There is a beautiful marble sheen within the huge bolders that sit on the edge, just sitting inside them like raisins in a muffin – although prettier. And less delicious.
We hang out there for a while on our own, exploring and climbing rocks and while I pretend to be coordinated, I secretly can’t believe that I haven’t injured myself so far on this trip.
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We head home and we drive past another incredible view so we stop for a better look! Excitement overwhelms me, and I do a cartwheel … landing in poison ivy on my other foot. Don’t. Even.
I had shoes on this time, and the bitch got me on the teeny tiny piece of exposed skin between my shoes and my jeans. Tony of course finds it hilarious, as I limp to the car frantically scratching my skin and swearing. You’ll keep Storey, you’ll keep.
Beautiful Ireland lays yet out another golden sunset on the way home. Pink skies, with sheep and windmills in the distance and we realise once again this holiday is just Ridick!
We stop at the restaurant we went to last night, and I get the steak that I had been obsessing about … and it was everything I had dreamed it would be. I wash it down with potato, and we go back to our little apartment, for minstrels and debriefing and bed.
DAY 12
We wake, and are excited that we now know a fantastic place for coffee and a view, which are pretty much my two favourite things in the world….except for my children, obviously. And Tony. And my family and friends. And puppies.
Anyway, we head to the Pod, and it is every bit as awesome as it was yesterday.
We head off for our first adventure for the day – Ards Forrest Trail Walk which comes highly recommended by Noely. There are a number of trail walks to choose from, a few 3km, 3.5km walks and a Red Trail walk which is 13km, which of course we decide to do. We park at the gate and can’t find the $5 Euro in change to get through the boom gate (we find $3.20) – so we park at the front and have to walk to the main car park to get started…which adds a nice 2km each way to our walk. That’s 17km for anyone playing at home. Lucky the day is beautiful, as is the scenery and the company so we don’t care where we are walking or how far it is.
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There are parts of the walk that looks like we are literally in the middle of an Enchanted Story children’s book, beautiful tall Forest trees, green, green everything, and heaps of those old Oak trees that look like they should have eyes and a mouth and will speak to me in a slow, deep – yet friendly voice. The whole place feels like a Fairytale and it gets more beautiful with every step we take…it’s the forest and the woods and then, it’s a freaking beach! Yep, white sandy beach, with the bluest clearest water, and it literally kills me that it’s so clear and blue, and I can’t dive into it. Well, I could, but I’d freeze. And, well, my hair.
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Note to Australia – first these people have kids with cuter voices than ours, now they are knocking at the doors of our beaches….lift your game Australia, before you know it, they will have a better version of Holden Utes and VB!
After we finish the walk, including the trek back to the car, we decide to drive out to check out Mount Errigal, the highest mountain in Donegal, and an epic climb that we are thinking of doing tomorrow. Tony has done it before once with Noely, and says it is really grueling but worth it for the view at the top. I’ll be the judge of that.
It’s 3.30pm, and we haven’t eaten all day, we have no water, and we’ve just done a 17km walk….and I’m not sure how it happened, but our excitement in the carpark got the better of us and in our wisdom, we decide “why put off to tomorrow what we can do today” and we take off up the mountain.
15 minutes later I have some pretty fierce internal swearing going on in my head, mostly directed at Tony for bringing me here. It is really rocky terrain, first muddy as we trudge through the bog, then as we climb over a surface that is purely loose rocks where it feels like we have roller-skates on, sliding on every vertical step. We take 60 second breaks every 20 metres or so because it is so steep that we are breathless. I am not sure if it’s because the mountain is hard, or because I’ve eaten and drank my fitness away since we arrived, but it’s hard.
I swear my way to the very top, and it is worth every single step. We are breathless for a different reason – it is fucking beautiful up here. 3000 feet of pure beauty. We are in the middle of nowhere, there is nobody here but us and it is so far beyond amazing that I am out of words to describe the view, and the moment.
We sit down, literally feeling on top of the world, looking around at the 360 degree view of beautiful Donegal.
Here it is. This is it. This is my favourite moment so far.
It is one of those times that I start using words like ‘magical’ and sound like a bit of a wanker.
We are so high up that a rescue chopper goes PAST us – at eye level. I secretly wish that they’d throw me a ladder and fly me down as I’m defeated after that epic climb up, but surely down is easier than up right? Wrong.
We start to make our way down the mountain and panic sets in as I realise that roller-skating on rocks DOWN a mountain is even harder than roller-skating up on them. With every step on the way down, our feet slip on the loose rocks, and my whole body hurts from tensing everything to protect myself from falling.
I fall 3 times on the way down, and am once again, thankful for Ireland and its endless offerings of potato, for padding out my booty and making for a softer landing with each fall.
We finally reach the car and within about 20 minutes, the day catches up to us – the trail walk, the epic 3 hour mountain climb, oh and no food – our bodies hurt. We head straight into town and find a chinese restaurant, and order – CHICKEN BALLS AND CURRY SAUCE, and just like that we are saved. We head home to inhale it, with some minstrel chasers and wash it down with cans of coke. Athletes.
We go to bed and sleep in the most hard core way we’ve ever slept.
Day 13
We wake feeling like we have been punched in our sleep thanks to post-mountain-climbing pain that hurts so bad that my pain has pain. These fitness people have a lot to answer for. Seriously – potato would never make me feel this bad. It really makes you think.
It’s our final day in Donegal, which is devastating because we love it so much, and have had some of our most special moments here, and it’s just so damn pretty that we don’t want to leave. We remind ourselves that all is not lost and that even though the walls are closing in on this trip we still have a week of fun waiting for us in Dublin.
We go to the Pod and say goodbye to the woman who has kept us alive for the past 3 days, we get our coffee and take in the view one more time. We do a drive through Glenties where Noely and Fiona live before we head off, we call by to check out Fiona’s Barber shop, a cool little pad called “The Barber Club” which is as gorgeous as it is genius – A Barber shop tucked away next to a pub, which is effectively her waiting room and she buzzes the pub when she’s ready for her next client. The woman is a bloody genius. I can’t help but consider doing this to make my millions in Australia, but am reminded by a really bad home-hair cut that I did on Fletcher as a 4 year old, and even I can see the holes in my grand plan.
As we drive around, Tony mentions that he never seen the most Northern point of Ireland and it’s somewhere he has always wanted to go, so naturally we decide to go there “on the way home to Dublin” except it is not on the way at all. It doesn’t matter, we have no clock, nowhere to be, nobody to answer to and life is pretty good at this point, we can do what we want.
I decide it will be a great idea to paint my nails on the way in the car, and put my hand out the window to dry them…which of course, at 110km immediately put a wind smudge on them and I realise it may be one of my dumbest ideas ever, right up there with purchasing nail polish without purchasing remover. They look shit.
We pass a town with a giant sign that says “welcome to Muff” – we laugh and spend about 30 minutes making jokes about Muff town.
We arrive at Malin Head, Ireland’s most northern point, and with its dramatic cliffs and dark blue water smashing up against the cliff face, it was worth the detour. We sit at the top of the cliff and watch it all happening around us. We talk about our trip, and our favourite parts so far, we talk about how beautiful this country is, and how lucky we are to have this time together just cruising around exploring it. We are gripping this holiday so tight that our knuckles are white.
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We drive to Ballyhillin Beach and get out and walk along the beach. Now I haven’t mentioned anything in this blog about my rock collection yet, because I’ve been trying to work out a way to do it without making me sound weird, but I now realize that it is impossible: soooo somewhere along the way during this trip, I started picking up rocks at special places and putting them into my pocket, as a memento (or free souvenir) . Long story short, I have about 3 kilos worth of rocks now from every place we’ve been to along our travels and I have basically become a crazy rock lady, always on the hunt for the perfect rock . Anyway, Tony – always supportive of all of my freaky shit, helps me find the perfect rock at the beach and we get back on the road to Dublin.
Tony stops to get me some prawn skips and minstrels, without me even whinging about needing them – he just does it because he knows it makes for a happier Jaynie – that’s love right there folks. It also makes for an easier drive for him when I’m too busy eating and can’t sing or talk shit, and also I’m fairly sure that the car is powered by me chewing at this point.
As we drive, I swig laxatives from the bottle that I keep in the glove box, which Tony affectionately calls my ‘crap juice’ – I send photos of myself sculling it to my girls back home, who message me their fond memories of my constipation from our NYC trip. Fun times.
We arrive back into Dublin, and we stop in to see Fran and Noel (Tony’s sister and brother in law) and we tell them about our travels, show them photos and stay for a while chatting to them before we head home to Tony’s parent’s house. We’re excited to be home when we get there, I’ve missed chatting to his mum and dad, they are really clever, funny people who have an endless archive of interesting stories that I have become addicted to. They have missed the company too and are pleased to have us back making noise in their home again. I just love them.
Day 14
We get up early and head down to Clontarf for a coffee, then we drive down to Howth for a walk, it is freezing and windy and sea gulls are letting themselves been blown across the sky over the water. By the way, the Sea Gulls here are taking the same steroids that the Irish bees are – they are bloody enormous and look more like spray painted crows.
We spend the day with Tony’s parents and it’s lovely – perhaps one of my favourite days. Pottering at home, it’s lovely in the garden with his dad as he builds his amazing bird houses, going to the shops with Tony’s mum, talking, laughing, making endless cups of tea and really loving a ‘nothing day’ that is anything but nothing.
We treat ourselves to an afternoon nap and wake with sheet creases on our cheeks. We decide to go out for some drinks and we head out to Malahide, a really cool little town not far from Tony’s parent’s house. First up, we go to a place Gibbeys, which has cool décor and an even cooler vibe, we have a few pints and laughs. We move to the next pub, and meet a lovely Irish couple and we stay for some more drinks and a few laughs. Tony tells me about his old haunt, a grotty old place called the Goblett, where he would go when he was 18 and where all the messiest nights happened (we all have one of those places), he had some great stories about it and I decide I want him to take me so that I can have the full Ireland experience! He laughs, and we head off to the Goblett! He was right, it is pretty festy in here, but it is a People Watcher’s delight and I literally cannot get enough of my surrounds. My brain may actually explode tonight. You know things are pretty grim when I am the poshest person in the room! Seriously, I am Dutchess Kate among this crowd.
We sink pint after pint for hours, telling stories, playing games and laughing so hard that our faces hurt. We are as pissed as fools. I would attach a photo of this night, but there simply aren’t enough filters in the world for that to happen. Think red eyes, sloppy heads and harsh lighting.
Tony tells me that after he would stagger out of the Goblett as a gangly teenager, he’d go down the road and get Chicken Balls and curry sauce and devour them when he got home. So in the interest of not taking any shortcuts in this authentic experience, we head off to put our order in, we stagger home and inhale them in about 5 seconds, and while I’m elbows deep in balls, it’s safe to say that Dutchess Kate has left the building.
We fall into bed after what has been one of the funniest nights of our trip!
Day 15
We wake with hangovers, and breath that smells like armpit after a long walk on a 40 degree day.
Tony asks if I want to try black pudding but I make an educated guess that a dirty hangover may not be the best day to try a blood sausage for the first time. I play it safe and eat toast while he cooks up fry up.
We head to Clontarf for coffee and a treat from the Butlers Pantry, and I tell Tony that I think I want a lemon meringue but they are pretty big, without hesitation he says “you can do it, you have a big mouth”. I don’t think anyone has ever believed in me the way that he does. It’s really quite beautiful.
He was right. I nailed it.
We decided to head out to New Grange in County Mead, when we park, we see the most enormous crow (what is it with this country and giant birds?)…Tony suspects it may be a small child in a crow’s suit.
We see Slane castle and are heading to an old ruins of an Abbey, we take a wrong turn and end up way off track but it looks pretty so we park the car, and start to wander into a forest-like park. It’s beautiful, we climb over fences, under barriers and over about 5 no trespassing signs, it was around this time Tony mentions how farmers used to shoot off their guns to scare trespassers. I immediately lose my excitement about our unplanned adventure and wish we were in the safety of a tourist-filled Abbey.
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It’s beautiful here. There is not a soul around and we clearly are not meant to be in here, which makes it even more fun – once I forget about the fear of being shot. We come to a “secret garden” which has a freaking maze made from giant hedges, and it’s mind-blowing. We go into the maze and follow it into to the middle where a giant beautiful oak tree awaited us. This story sounds so made up, and I can admit how ridiculous it is that our days just seem to get better when things don’t go to plan.
On the way back, we get to take in the amazing countryside – green, green, green! We stop at the old Mellifont Abbey and it is really is incredible to walk around something steeped in such rich history, wondering what happened here, and what it was like all those hundreds of years ago. It is just so cool that there is so much of this history still here in this beautiful country that you can touch and feel.
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We stop at McDonald’s on the way home, because we’ve seen so many cows in this country, we’re keen to try us some Irish beef, oh and because we are McHungover.
We head home for a power nap, because we have to back up tonight for a night out with Tony’s friends.
As I blow dry my hair and try to make my face look presentable, I kick myself for having a Category 4 hungover on the day that I am to meet about 15 of Tony’s friends in one hit. This is the story of my life. Ask any of my friends; you can bet your house that I will always ruin myself before something important. So I’m hungover. I feel 50 years old. I’m ugly, my eyes are actually itchy and my brain is so tired that I appear have no words for intelligent conversation, and off we go.
Even with a hangover, we have a brilliant night. Tony’s friends are amazing, and they all make me feel so welcome. They are friendly and funny, which made it easy on my somewhat fuzzy social skills, which slowly come back to me after a few beers and a potent Mojito! There were lots of laughs and it was so much fun I didn’t want it to end; and it’s so lovely to see Tony with his mates. He is happy, and I’m happy. We get home about 3am and I’m proud of us for backing up!
Day 16
We woke slow, feeling 2 hangovers ganging up on us. We head out for coffee and breaky in Clontarf. It is 18 degrees today and everyone in Ireland is losing their minds – people are coming out in droves in singlets and shorts. They don’t waste a minute of sunshine here, because they are worried it might not come back. We sure take this sunshine business for granted in Australia.
We go to St Anne’s Park, which has become such a special place for us here. We’ve come on quiet, cold mornings, we have come at sunrise, we have come for brisk walks and slow wanders – but here, on an 18 degree day, it is a completely different place. There are people literally everywhere! It’s like Disneyland without the rides.
It is picture perfect. Birds are singing and 2 ducks nearby start doing it in the lake, right in front of us. It did not look consensual to me, but I overlook it because I am not familiar with animal law.
We sit on the grass and watch a Hurling game, a traditional Irish sport, and get this – it is the fastest game on grass and most skillful game in the world. Legit! I did not even make that up.
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It is also one of the oldest with its traditions set in the mists of ancient Irish history. It is a stick and ball game, played by teams of 15, oh yeah and it is AWESOME to watch. The mother in me worries about them getting hit with balls and bats, but the athlete in me (cough), appreciates how skillful and fit these guys are!
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We lay on the grass looking up at the sunshine and we wish this holiday would never end, and we talk about how we somehow surprisingly don’t miss our real lives just yet and how we wish we could stretch this indulgent, special trip out just a little longer. Like another 6 months or so.
We go home and get ready to go for lunch at the Millennium Bar in Swords with all the family. It’s bloody massive – nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, kids everywhere – it is a Storey fest, and it is a beautiful, happy chaos that is easy to fall in love with. I eat meat and potatoes hoping it will cure my hangover, when it doesn’t I just drink pints instead. We eat, we drink, we talk and it feels so lovely, easy and normal, and I feel so grateful that Tony’s family have opened up their arms and absorbed me into their family.
We go home full of beer, meat and potatoes. We are tired but with only 5 days left, we want to milk every drop of Ireland that we can before it’s over. We decide to do a night drive into the city. It is beautiful under the lights, and is still pumping with atmosphere, music and people. We walk around and point at everything! We go into the Long Hall, a lovely old little whisky bar in the streets of the Dublin and have a pint each before we drive home.
We are tired, happy, and a tad hung-over from last night so we figure that it’s not overkill to get chicken balls and curry sauce… again.
DAY 17
Feeling human again, we get up early and go out for breakfast and head into the city and walk around. We meet Tony’s friend Paul for lunch in Merrion Square, and we all talk and eat sandwiches in the sun. Another beautiful day means that the park is full of Dubliner’s laying on the grass soaking up the sunshine.
We say goodbye to Paul and we wander around after lunch, and Tony takes me into Christchurch Cathedral, a huge, beautiful church in the middle of the city, as we walk in – a choir of about 30 people are singing and the acoustics, along with the sheer beauty of the inside of this building is overwhelming. I almost cry again. It is just beautiful. We wander around the inside of the cathedral taking in the history and the beauty of its structure. The choir finishing singing, and it’s so quiet inside that it is almost eerie. The only sounds are our shoes hitting the ancient shiny tiles beneath our feet. That is until, being as graceful as ever, I trip and leap forward about a meter before catching myself one second before a full face plant. I make enough noise for people to look over. Or perhaps the noise was Tony’s laughing. Hard to tell.
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We leave and head to the Guinness Brewery. It’s huge! I hadn’t anticipated it would be so enormous. We walk around on a self-guided tour, checking out the giant vats and all the love that goes into making Guinness. It was really interesting and the building itself is industrial and cool.
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The last stop on the tour is the Sky Bar which is a bar surrounded by glass and a 360 degree view of Dublin city. It’s so light inside I have to wear my sunglasses, acutely aware that I look like a tosser but my old eyes can’t handle the glare, so I basically stand there like a much cheaper version of a Kardashian. We get a pint of Guinness each and stand in the bar looking out over Dublin and pointing out all of the things that we have seen. It’s bloody beautiful, not the Guinness but the view sure is. The Guinness is a little like drinking a loaf of bread.
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We keep wandering around the city and we walk back into Grafton Street for dinner, and drive home. On the way back we go to Dollymount beach, the sun is still out and it’s 8.30pm, it is such a beautiful night and there are people everywhere. We walk down to the water and breathe it all in, these moments – this trip just keeps on giving.
We go home for TV and talks with Tony’s folks before bed, which is the best part of every day for me. More stories, more laughs and usually some fantastic commentary over a variety of TV shows, it’s like the live version of Gogglebox and it is brilliant.
Day 18
We get up and head back into the city, we do breakfast and a great coffee with Tony’s friend Ken – who I have a bit of a weird crush on – he’s really awesome, and kind of looks like he could be my brother. OK, that brother/crush thing sounds weird, and gross. Anyway, point is – he is tops and I love him, in a totally non-weird way. He works in the financial district, so the awesome café that we go to is in a place call Docklands and it is like a completely different part of Dublin, it’s new and surrounded by cool new buildings and architecture but there’s history there too. Dublin is just full of surprises. As much as we love the old buildings and history soaked part of the city, Tony and I decide that this new, trendy part of the city is for us, and when we win lotto, this is where we will buy our waterfront apartment. We say goodbye to Ken and we around for a bit afterwards inhaling Dublin town, we wander past U2 ‘s studio, which is an unassuming garage door with graffiti from fans all over it.
As we get in the car and start to drive home we get a text from Ken asking if we are still around in the city for some cocktails, we instantly wish we were – so we decide to come back on Thursday as that seems to be a perfect way to say goodbye to this city we love. We drive back for a late lunch with Tony’s parents; we chill for a bit, we take his Mum to the shops. Now this woman is 84 and walks to the shops each day, walks to the hairdressers when she needs a blow-dry – she’s pushing her little trolley and motoring around the streets like a boss. She has a sharp comeback line ready to go at any moment and the woman can still rock a red lipstick, let me tell you. I love her.
In the afternoon, we head back down to Kilkenny to see Dee and Dave, and I have mixed emotions – I’m beyond excited to see them again, but I’m sick with dread about saying goodbye, for real this time.
We have the greatest night with them; it is the easiest fun for all of us. Champagne flows (like a tidal wave) and I catch it all with my giant gob. Dave makes cocktails, because I mustn’t have been loud and obnoxious enough already. We eat more delicious food prepared by the hostess with the most-ess. We play “Speak Out” where you wear the ugly mouth-guards and try to speak, which is even harder when your speech is challenged by alcohol consumption. We laugh a lot, and we realize at 2.30am that we should have probably called it a night around midnight. Pissed. Ugly. Again.
Day 19
Surprise, Surprise – we wake up ugly. I literally have a head like a foot.
We are hungover like dogs. I never really understood that saying, but I’m guessing now it may have something to do with how hairy my teeth are.
We say a sad goodbye to Dee and Dave, and my heart sinks and I desperately wish I had her in my life every day like this – in the flesh, rather than texts and Skype. She is everything. Tony’s heart breaks as his bromance with Dave comes to an end, I console him as we drive away.
We go into town and walk around Kilkenny one more time. It is definitely one of our favourite places, it’s such a cool city, exploding with the perfect blend of history and trendy shit.
We buy our boys fidget spinners from a teeny shop that reeked of the worst B.O we have ever encountered. You could almost see it. We literally held out breath for the entire transaction. I don’t know why this is blog worthy, perhaps because it is the closest to death that we have ever been, so it therefore deserves a mention.
We drive over to Wexford to see Tony’s friend Miley and his family. His wife puts me to shame as she dishes a delicious fresh apple pie from the oven, and I’m reminded of what a shit host I am, and would be unwrapping a half open packet of Digestive biscuits for guests and thinking that I’m Martha Stewart. Miley’s daughter is possibly the cutest kid alive – at 3 years old, with Shirley Temple curls and her adorable Irish accent, she can pretty much have whatever she likes. She takes a liking to me and asks me to go outside to play on the swings with her and see her animals …she had me at swings and I’m out pushing her on repeat listening to her voice never wanting her to be quiet (first time ever for children). Cutest ever.
After we say our goodbyes, we drive over to Kilmore Quay as Tony had never been there and wanted to see. We get pies for lunch and sit together by the sea and eat them. We wander along the pier, and search for a rock for my collection.
Afterwards, we drive into Wexford and look up the street that my great grandmother grew up in. It was a weird and wonderful feeling of loveliness knowing that somewhere down the line, us Moloney’s started somewhere as beautiful as this.
We head home tired after another long day (and hangover). We sit up talking to Tony’s brother Andrew and his parents and finally, we sleep.
Day 20
We wake up and come down to hang out with Tony’s mum and dad and have tea and toast. It’s a shit feeling knowing that we’re going home tomorrow. Tony’s mum is sad, and every now and then says how much she will miss us. It makes me sad. I hug her just about every time that I walk past her today.
In the interest of milking the last day of our holiday, we go for lunch and passion fruit Mojitos at the Marker Hotel in our favourite part of Dublin, with Ken, Paul and another friend of Tony’s – Cyril, a lovely French man (whose girlfriend I fell in love with at our night out). I am sitting in the sunshine, surrounded by lovely men, and sinking Mojitos. Life is good for Jaynie.
I’m so happy that Tony got to see his mates again, and I love listening to their banter and seeing Tony’s happy head.
We go to Marks Models, an old model shop in the city that Tony used to go to as a 10 year old and stare at the model airplanes that he couldn’t afford. The shop smells old and Tony says nothing in it has changed as he wanders around reminiscing. He buys a model airplane and I think about how cool this moment is, that he’s back here, as a grown man, embracing the little boy inside him (who is never far away) and buying something he always wanted. It’s a nice rare moment seeing him do something for himself, and I love him a little bit more as he walks excitedly up the stairs with his new toy.
We go off for chocolate, coffee and people watching. It is sad saying goodbye to Dublin, it weirdly feels like home. This trip has been so special, and we don’t want to let it go just yet.
We head back home and Tony’s niece, Louise, and her kids came to say goodbye to us. Louise has 6 children, all ridiculously gorgeous and annoyingly well behaved. She is like some sort of mum-god, who is totally nailing this shit and putting us all to shame, well me anyway. I quietly hope that she writes a book so that I can figure out how this parenting gig works once and for all. We sit with them all, talking and playing with the kids for a while. Louise cries when it’s time to say goodbye to Tony, and my heart breaks for them both. I hug her goodbye, she tells me that said she has never seen Tony so happy and that he’s like a totally different person. My heart is full. He has brought the same happiness to my world.
At night, we decide to go for a drive through the city in the rain. It’s the first time I’ve seen it rain properly since I arrived as we’ve been blessed with sunshine every day. I’m happy that it’s raining because I like how everything looks different to how I’ve already seen it. We drive up to Howth and park the car and sit and watch the city lights in the distance, we talk, and we head home for bed – sad that it’s the last time we’ll tuck ourselves into our bed in Ireland (until next time).
Day 21
It’s our last day in Ireland and we are determined to jam as much into this day as physically possible.
We head off to St Anne’s park nice and early to go for a walk. This place is just magic at any time of day, and every single time we have been here we have discovered different parts of it that we hadn’t seen before. Today we found a huge flying fox, which I try out and Tony flings me up and down the wire.
We wander over to Clontarf afterwards for Breakfast, we are a little flat at the thought of going home. I quietly feel heartbreak for Tony about having to leave his family, and I think for a moment how hard it must be for him to live so far away from them. And how hard it would be for them to live without a Tony Storey in their day to day world.
We drive into city for some last minute gifts. That, and because the jersey that I bought Nate still has the bloody security tag on it, so I need to take it back to have it removed. God knows I don’t need any more attention at the airport as I try to smuggle my rock collection through customs.
We say goodbye to our beloved Dublin city and drive home to spend the rest of the day with Tony’s parents.
We need to return the hire car at 12pm so Tony drives it back and I follow him in his dad (Tommy)’s car which Tommy tells me has a sticky clutch, so I’m not filled with confidence for my first time driving on Irish roads, and with good reason;
OK, Attention Ireland, I have a little feedback….firstly – a roundabout is not a painted circle on the road, and if it is, you can expect me to drive over it. Secondly, do any of you know what is actually going on, on your roads, because you all seem a little confused? Thirdly, I am sorry about the red light that I went through in 2nd gear, but it just seemed easier than stalling the car with the sticky gears in traffic.
Tony’s brother Robert, along with beautiful Fran and Noel come over to say goodbye to us, so we sit with them all and have lunch, chat a bit and then there are some more sad hugs and goodbyes. This day sucks.
Devastatingly, the day slips away from us, and before we know it, our suitcases are waiting out the front of the house. It is a very teary farewell to Tony’s beautiful parents, my heart breaks for his mum as I try to imagine how to say goodbye to your child who lives on the other side of the world. I have fallen in love with both of his parents, and I wonder how quickly we can come back to see them. I consider that his mum is quite small and may fit into my hand luggage. If only.
Ireland, you are so many more things than I thought you would be – you are rugged, savage, beautiful, picturesque and surprising all at the same time.
You are more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen, you have given me the most incredible memories. You have shown me ridiculous scenery and breathtaking sunsets.
You have given me chicken balls and curry sauce.
You have given me Tony and I will be forever grateful for that, and I score all of his wonderful family as a fantastic bonus. You have given me a place that feels like home. You have given me a fatter arse and a fair sized muffin top, but I forgive you because you have literally given me the time of my life.
I have fallen hard for you and I can’t wait to see you again. Thank-you Ireland.
Photos by the talented Tony Storey
Instagram: tony.storey
More stuff here: https://flipagram.com/f/18mBJcf9xj0
OK, so the trip and blog ends here……but on the flight from Dublin to Abu Dahbi, I thought I’d drop not 1 but 2 sleeping tablets, and I thought that I’d take it with wine, not water. This idea was right up there with drying my finger nails out of the window of the car while travelling 100km. I don’t remember any of the flight, I missed all the meals, and after the 9 hour flight, I slept in the transit lounge for another 3 hours while we waited for the final leg of the flight, poor Tony basically was travelling alone. He likens it to Weekend at Bernies.
We are a little slower to wake up and we wonder if jet lag has hit us late or if our epic adventures are just catching up with us. We lay in bed with a map as big as our doona and make a plan for our day.
I search Trip Advisor high and low for decent coffee as I desperately need one, and so far it has been Ireland’s only disappointment. We go to a place in town and knew we were onto a good thing as soon as we ordered; when rather than looking confused about the whole sugar thing, she takes it in her stride. It was in that moment, we know that this girl knows what she is doing. I tell her that I’ve researched this place for the best coffee in Killarney and she smiles and nods, and I can tell she has rescued people before. We get our coffees and I nearly leap the counter to hug her. Just give the girl a cape and be done with it.
We walk past the greatest sweet shop ever and buy as much sugar as we can shove into our pockets. Upon hearing my accent, the man in the shop reminisces about his trip to Australia many years ago, and how lucky we have to have ‘drive-thru bottle shops’ – the things we take for granted eh?
We head out to Blarney Castle. It is grand and beautiful and surrounded by lovely gardens. We walk up the stairs to the top of the castle, going in and out of all the rooms, imagining what it would have been like in the days when people lived here.
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We go over to kiss the Blarney stone, which I initially thought would be me just kissing a bolder somewhere, but it’s a little bit more yoga meets extreme sport than that. We have to lay back, in the arms of a lovely old Irish man who lowers us back and down one at a time and he guides us down to smack our lips on a spot where everyone before us has done the same including Winston Churchill. I try to think only of the ‘gift of the gab’ that I will get from kissing the stone and not the herpes and spit germs left there from people before me.
It was a really cool experience and I quietly wonder how long exactly I will need to wait until my gift will kick in.
There are opportunities for magic and to make a wish everywhere around the gardens – there’s witches stone, a wishing well and a Dolman so we chance our hand and make as many wishes as we can. We have lunch at the Muskerry Arms pub, again Tony has soup and a sandwich and I inhale yet another huge plate of bangers and mash, with a pint. I was born for this shit, maybe it’s my Irish roots. Thank-you Moloney’s.
If I sit really still, and be really, really quiet – I can actually hear myself getting fatter.
We drive through Cork and we stop at Kinsale, a beautiful seaside town filled to the brim with wine bars, fine dining, trendy cafes and boutiques. It is quaint and beautiful filled with old books stores that smell of the pages, steak houses that smell of, well, steak. The streets are lined with colourful cottage houses with different coloured doors, and little stores bursting with charm. As we walk along the harbour, Tony tells of stories driving out with this way with his dad as a young boy of 7 or 8, through Clonikilty where his dad used to release the homing pigeons and the special memories he has of sitting in the big truck next to his dad. It is such a special trip learning all about Tony’s childhood and seeing all of the places that he has told me about.
The thing about this road trip is that it never feels like we are on our way somewhere, waiting to get somewhere or for the next adventure to start because out the window is such a huge part of the journey. It is all so beautiful, we talk about Tony’s childhood, we stop at towns, we side track off course when the moment takes us, we eat chocolate Minstrels, we laugh, we sing along to the radio, we drink pints at pubs along the way, we look at castles, forts, we cartwheel (OK, that bit is just me) and we are constantly breathing in this ever changing, always beautiful view as we drive around this breathtaking countryside.
We stop at Bantry Bay, the most southern tip of Ireland. We have dinner at a little diner, Tony opts for a chicken curry and before I know it, I am up to my elbows in lamb chops and more potatoes. I beg Tony, for the love of god, to stop letting me eat potatoes. He needs to take some responsibility here.
On the way home, we try to take the Caha pass for the view but couldn’t figure out how to get onto it. We drive on, and before long turn around a bend to see the most insane view and sunset in front of us as though a stage curtain had just been opened, and a sign that read “Caha Pass”. We found it, and it sure found us. It was so insanely distracting that we pull over and get out so that we can take it all in. It is rugged, raw and literally takes our breath away, we can’t stop smiling – and swearing, because sometimes, ‘amazing’ or ‘magical’ doesn’t even cut it and you have to throw an F bomb in front of them to give it more feeling.
On the drive home the Cork and Kerry Mountains are going off their tits, add to that the most dramatic of skies and lighting that seems to change the whole landscape, and I can say with certainty that Ireland is almost a bigger show off than me.
Thank you and goodnight.
DAY 8
We pack up and get ready, and we are a little sad to leave our beloved Killarney as it has been just fantastic. There is a big annual car rally starting today so our timing couldn’t be better. We head down to our caped coffee hero and not only does she make us another amazing coffee, but she remembers our order from yesterday and puts the sugar in without us even asking. This chick is flying the flag for Ireland. I try not to be weird, but I think she knows I have a coffee crush on her.
For the first time the weather is a bit on the shit side, it is icy cold and raining as we head off in our car for the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. We stop at Inch beach, which is one of the beaches where Mick Fanning has surfed when visiting his Irish heritage, there are some great waves through the heavy sea mist and my Scoob would love it, I just can see him with his blue lips, telling me he isn’t cold and that he will stay in for a few more sets.
We continue driving along the coast line and arrive into Dingle, a gorgeous little fishing village. It comes with its own legendary dolphin, known to live in close contact with humans in the town. Its name is Fungi and the story was a nice reminder to me that no matter hard life gets for me, that at least my name isn’t ‘Fungi’. Amazingly the town is brimming with merchandise about the dolphin, and tourists actually wear shirts with “Fungi” written on them. No judgement.
There is a statue of Fungi in the town, I ride it, knowing that the ladies in the tourism office inside are rolling their eyes (“we’ve seen this before you idiot, move along”).
We go into a sports store and I convince Tony to buy a wind-proof jacket because with this change in weather, I worry people will see his hard nipples through his Hurley hoodie (I’m always thinking of the big issues). He buys a nice jacket and a beanie and looks warm, and pretty.
We leave Dingle and head out to the remains of Dunbeg Fort which has been around since 500BC and has started to drop off into the ocean due to the erosion of the cliff. It is a bit sad that such an ancient part of Ireland’s history will eventually just fall away into the ocean. The icy wind is so harsh at the cliff face that it gives us a physical push, Tony quietly thankful for his new jacket, and me quietly thankful all that mash potato keeps me from blowing away.
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We go back to Dingle for lunch, a lovely hot soup, chicken wings and a few pints.
We head off after lunch and just 15 mins later we are on the Conor Pass for the best views of Ireland so far, and that is saying something. We go through Castlegregory beach and Kerry Head oohing and ahhing all the way. There is such a vast difference in the scenery today – one minute it is rugged sea and mountains, the next it is beach and sand and moments later, green pastures which drop off into calm seas. I’ve never seen anything like it.
The weather keeps changing all day, always in our favour and every single time we get out of the car to sight see, eat or walk – it stops raining. We often laugh to ourselves about us being “golden” where things just fall into place for us. What a pair of smug, adorable arseholes.
We drive through County Limerick and take in its picture perfect views, stopping at Foynes, a sweet little town filled with big sea trawlers … and a chipper, some pubs and a funeral home – obviously.
There are more castles on the way and I feel a pang of sadness that when this trip ends, I will not live in the fairytale where I get to see castles every day. And sheep! I don’t think I have mentioned anything about the sheep! The green paddocks and pastures are filled with sheep. Not just your regular, ugly Australian sheep. These are the cool ones with the little black faces that look like Shaun the Sheep. And don’t even get me started on the baby ones. I mean, I know I’ve eaten lamb at least 3 times since I got here, but god they are cute.
We have dinner in Limerick city and after smashing down a few burgers, we start our drive to Galway with our jeans undone where we will spend the next 2 nights. As we drive, we listen to a local Limerick radio station which is playing 80’s and 90’s music and we laugh and sing all the way to Galway.
We arrive at our B&B and our host, Aingel (it’s Irish for Angela, or Angel) welcomes us into her beautiful 200 year thatch cottage home. We have our own lovely bedroom and huge bathroom and she is so lovely that it feels a bit like we are staying with a relative, especially when she takes our washing for us as we haven’t washed since Kilkenny. Mama.
We go to bed not long after we arrive after and have our night-talks where we break down the day, weigh up our best and worst, our funniest and whinge about how sore and tired we are.
DAY 9
We wake up and our host, Aingel shows us exactly why her name stands for Angel when she greets us with home-made scones, granola with some yoghurt, fruit and fresh coffee. She even gives us some home-made bread and lovely cooked ham and cheese for packed lunches for our big day out. Not a single slice of wonder white in sight!
We head off for what will be one of the biggest, most ridiculous days in our entire adventure! First stop, Connemara – a scenic drive which blew our freaking minds. It’s beauty is savage with raw landscapes along the Wild Atlantic Way, with lonely valleys, black lakes, hidden beaches and seaside towns – it is completely different to anything we have seen on this trip so far. There are rogue, huge bolders in the ocean, nothing growing in the surrounding rocky valleys – it feels like we are on the moon – except there are pubs.
On local advice given by our new mum, Aingel, we decide to include a stop off at Omey Island – which at low tide, you can walk across to. It is just beautiful, and surreal literally walking over to an island. We wear our sneakers across and jump across the sand aiming for the dry bits, of course, when we reach the middle, there are no dry bits and our feet are soaked. No real problem for us because we are walking to an island, and there are cows, we are in Ireland and everything is awesome.
We walk back to our car and being the genius that I am, I hang my socks from the back window so that they can get a blow dry as we drive around. Stay Classy.
We are driving to see the Cliffs of Moher, eating sausage rolls with no shoes on.
We eat chocolate treats in the car, we talk about how quickly we hoover packets of minstrels and talk about people who ‘save’ chocolate and who have thing I have heard about called ‘left over’ chocolate – we wonder who these people are and what their lives would be like. I’m pretty sure that this car is powered by me chewing at this point.
We drive through little town after little town, the views are incredible with slate textures almost purple as the sunlight bounces off the rocks. There are cobble-stone rock fences all along the road as it hugs the coast line and it seems to add to the incredible view, the boundaries to the properties are divided by the same fences and it makes everything so uniquely Ireland.
As we arrive into a town called Carron – we have gone from being on top of the world, to below looking up at the mountains, alongside the view and now right next to it. Then all of a sudden after the ruggedness of the coastline, we are back to green, children’s drawings, endless green paddocks patch-worked together by the same stone boundary fences that we followed along the Wild Atlantic Way.
The sunshine is mental and we constantly laugh at how the weather seems to be on our side and works in with our plans.
We drive through county Clare, and it is where not only the Moloney name historically hails from, but my great grandfather was born there, and whilst I may be more Spanish looking than Irish, I know from my love of potatoes that this place is my home. So green and almost fake looking that Tony calls it Teletubbie land, and starts to speak like one. It’s weirdly attractive.
Driving through Clare, with its green pastures and winding roads along the countryside that we decide to get out and bask in its beauty. My wet shoes still in the back seat, and I think how poignant it is that I feel this earth, my heritage – between my toes. I’m deep like that. As I go to step out of the car onto the grass Tony asks me if it feels like home, and in that very moment, my barefoot lands its first step – directly onto Poison Ivy sending pain and an uncontrollable itch to my foot. So, um, yep, welcome home. Bloody Moloneys. I swear and scratch my leg, almost taking skin off the bone. Tony takes photos.
Tony decides to do a quick wee on the side of the road, and I joke that a car is coming, but when he looks up in fright, there actually is one. I take a photo.
1 all Tony Storey, the score is 1 all.
We arrive at the Cliffs of Moher.
Get. Fucked.
I am sorry, but there are no other words. It. Is. Mental.
This place literally hits you in the face. I cry a little bit and can’t work out why, it really takes me by surprise but for a moment it literally took my breath away. I paused. I reminded myself to breathe. I swore. I cried. It is so difficult to actually articulate how incredible it was.
We walk the entire 4 cliffs right to the end and it takes us about an hour each way…at this point I should add, that as I had no sneakers or socks, I had to wear my knee high, 2 inch boots that were in the boot of the car – with no socks and my poison ivy rash rubbing on the inside. I didn’t feel a thing, thanks to the distraction that is the amazing Cliffs of Moher.
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We go for dinner afterwards, one of the only substandard pub meals that we’ve had, but we don’t really care – we eat, wash it down with a pint and just keep going on and on about what we saw today! We are on cloud 9.
We head off to drive back from what has been our longest day yet … and a whopping 14 hours after leaving the house, we finally return home after the most amazing sunset yet!
Fitbit tells us we have walked 24km today. We are broken, nothing makes sense, we fall into bed and whinge more than usual about body pain during our night talks.
We wake up nice and early and go out for a 6km run down at Clontarf, the sun shining making it a beautiful, picturesque run and it disappears as soon as we finish, and it rains for the first time since we’ve arrived. It was such a magical start to the day. And by the way, yes, I am aware of what a dickhead I risk sounding like when I use words like ‘magical’ but I blame Ireland, it is off it is chops on magicality (it’s a word) and it is just so frikking beautiful that I’m running out of ‘amazings’ to describe it.
When we get home from our run, Tony’s brother Thomas comes over, it was lovely to meet him. He definitely has some tony-isms, and it’s easy to tell that they are brothers but he’s not as pretty as my Tony.
We head off to the city again. We go to the Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript Gospel book in latin which is like, really bloody old….it is really interesting and the scribing and detail is mind blowing. Afterwards we went into the Trinity College Library which is incredible. It is one of those beautiful buildings where you stand with your head tilted back looking at the roof with your mouth open. We walk up and down again and again and we can’t bring ourselves to walk out. The smell of books fills this giant, historic and beautifully architectured building.
Books have to be one of the best smells ever and for me are right up there with salt air, puppy breath and KFC. The walls are lined with statues of famous Irish literary legends. We walk past each statue head, trying to see who is the most handsome, kind of like Tinder for the 1800’s, but they were pretty ugly back in the day so no boy band material there.
We are back walking around Dublin City, it is such a hive of atmosphere and rich in history! There is so much to see, so much music, people, pubs, food and churches on crack. I love this city. It has everything.
We stop for lunch at a pub called O’Neill’s, and I order lamb shanks with mash, gravy and all the trimmings, and a pint, Tony mentions how I am killing it with nailing these big lunches (while he eats SOUP), and I secretly love him a little more for being proud of how much I can eat.
Tony’s Fitbit tells us we’ve clocked another daily total of 20,000 steps, my jeans tell me that I’ve clocked another 20,000 calories in mash potato and chocolate Minstrels. After lunch we visit the GPO building which is one of Ireland’s most famous buildings. After being destroyed by fire in the course of rebellion during the 1916 Easter Rising and was repaired years later, it is still littered in bullet holes that you can see and touch in the front pillars.
We head over to Arnotts – for jeans, not biscuits – (Arnotts is the Irish equivalent to our Myer) and I ask the shop assistant for some help as I’m confused about the sizes – she has a badge that reads “Jeans Specialist” and she looks at me deep in thought, with a frown and announces that since I’m quite “big in the hips and bum” she would start with these, and she hands me a pair of jeans that will double a sleeping bag. I walk out from the change room, modelling them for Tony and literally hold the waste of the jeans out as though I was in the ‘after’ photo in a Weight Watcher’s ad. We laugh our heads off and I leave the jeans behind and head for Zara – who never disappoints.
We stop at the dodgy souvenir shop and load up a basket with top quality gifts for our kids and friends – get excited Mandy Coolen, there is a “Kiss me I’m Irish” condom coming your way – You. Are. Welcome. (Quality assurance not guaranteed). Tony buys noisy tin whistles for his boys and I quietly thank god that we don’t live together.
So I’m wandering through the bustling streets of Dublin town being adored by the man that I love, which might sound like a bit of wank, but Christ it feels good. There is something about having nowhere to be, when life is just about selfish choices – even just for a short time, surrounded by beautiful scenery, and I just feel so grateful.
We stop for some watery shitty coffee, which I have to say Ireland has nailed right up there with its mash potatoes. Ugh. We take great delight in ordering our coffees each day and ask them to put a sugar in it …”one skim latte with a sugar thanks” …. And watch them lose their minds at this new concept. They look at us like we are mad, and point over to the sugar satchels as if to say “put your own fucking sugar in”.
We go home via a really lovely restaurant and go in for some fine dining. Except we don’t. That’s a lie – we get chicken balls and curry sauce – again! And I don’t even care if you judge me. If heaven was food, it would taste like that.
We go to bed with no regrets.
Day 4
We are up early for a walk on Dollymount beach to catch the sunrise. It is about minus 2 but so spectacular that I don’t even worry that I haven’t felt my face in about 45 minutes and that my fingers may have to be amputated. We didn’t see a single soul stupid enough to be up that early in that temperature, so it was pretty special.
We get breaky and coffee (we put our own sugars in), pack our bags, say goodbye to Tony’s folks and we are on the road to Kilkenny to visit one of my best friends – Dee and her hubby Dave! I am beyond excited to see them as it has been about 5 years since I saw her in the flesh, Skype is great but it makes hugging difficult. We take the scenic route down the coast and drive through Arklow, a beautiful little fishing town and we talk in synchronised ohh’s and ahhh’s as we admire the town and its scenery.
My obsession continues with the gorse bush that bursts out all over the countryside. The countryside along the freeway looks like a child’s drawing done with a bright green crayon. The greenest of green grass, fences, cows, sheep, cottage houses and the sun is shining making it all a bit ridiculous. We pass castles, and it is a magical (yep, I’m still using that word) drive along the River Slaney, driving through quaint little towns along the way. Every town has a chipper (fish & chip shop), a church (usually the biggest and most beautiful thing in every town), and a pub (or 4) …they certainly have their priorities right. I muse to Tony about how these teeny towns all seem to have funeral parlours – perhaps something to do with clogging up arteries with mash potato, just thinking out loud.
We arrive at Dee and Dave’s and I am so happy to see her that I hug the shit out of her and break 3 of her ribs. Tony and Dave play along and hug each other jumping up and down in the front yard as though they are old friends reunited, it beats a handshake upon meeting for the first time I guess. Their house is amazing! It is a renovated cottage which is the perfect balance of new style while maintaining the history of the building. It is so tastefully done, and these 2 style gurus have absolutely nailed it. We tell them they are mad not to be listing this on Air B&B. It is so beautiful. The view is insane as they are smack bang in the country and look out over acres of green, beautiful scenery and we can’t believe that they get to see this every day. We head into the town of Kilkenny in the afternoon and it fast becomes one of my favourite places of this trip! It starts to hail as we wander through the main street and being 7 years old, we instinctively open our mouths to catch it.
We drink at the Dylan, The Tap Room and the Left Bank. We are a bit pissed and the loud annoying laughter has kicked in by this point. We head home to Dee’s house where they somehow manage to prepare and serve a beautiful meal without it looking like the effort, chaos and mess that it would if I were attempting to entertain at my place. There was no mess, no pot clanging, no swearing and no ‘call a pizza’ as a back-up plan when I get too pissed to cook….it was literally like – one minute: no food; next minute: 3 course dinner is served and not a bead of Gordon Ramsay sweat between them. Amazing and irritating all at the same time.
We sit up talking and drinking til after 1am, which for Tony and I on this trip makes us so wild that we’re one step away from piercing our genitals. We head for the comfort of the beautiful guest room and may have dribbled on their posh pillows.
DAY 5
We wake a little dusty after an afternoon and night of boozing. I thought I only had a few but the mirror tells a different story. We head downstairs and Dave is cooking the mother of all hang over breakfast feasts complete with bloody Mary’s and at this point, if he wasn’t already married to Dee, I would marry him myself for the food alone! We are in heaven, and will rate them highly on Air B&B before we check out.
We all go for a walk in the woods opposite their house along a beautiful walking trail. Dee and I walk ahead catching up on each other’s lives, while the boys follow behind us – falling in love with each other with every step as they discuss photography, all things technology and car racing. It was a beautiful bro-mance to witness.
We go back to their house and the sun is out, we take picnic rugs out to their property and lay down while Dave and Tony fly drones around with tech erections.
We get ready to go out and head down to town to see Kilkenny castle and the surrounding grounds and gardens, which is, well, magical. Kilkenny is an old medieval town, steeped in history and stories. The town itself is trendy and cool with wine bars, cool pubs, boutiques and amazing food. I love it!
We go to a place called Riv gauche for lunch, a really cool little café bar which has an atmosphere that hits you in the face as soon as you walk in. I order a fancy pants version of a cheese and ham toastie – with cheese sauce! Plus cheese. Oh. And cheese! Seriously. Who came up with that? It was delicious and I inhale it in silence except a weird groaning that makes everyone a little uncomfortable.
On the way back to the car, Dave, who is an incredibly talented photographer and who carries his little Fuji camera around his chest like a man-bag, asks us to go to the top level of the car park as he’s always wanted to shoot couples up there. Once I realised that he meant with a camera, not a loaded gun (although with my hangover he’d be doing me a favour) … we went along with it and did a little photo shoot which took about 6 minutes and involved us being inappropriate dickheads and laughing, Dave capturing them and turning them into brilliant photos. The man is a ridiculous talent, and what an amazing memory for us to take home with us from this special place.
We head back to the house for coffee and some of Dee’s home baked treats. Dave shows us some of his photos in a bit of a slide show, which is basically porn for Tony. As we pack up to go, Tony leaves a parting gift of spilling coffee on their beautiful light grey couch. We say our goodbyes and we have had such an amazing time and we realise we have to squeeze in another night with them before we head home as it was just too much fun to end it here. We head off to Killarney for the next part of our adventure.
The drive is of course, beautiful. Beautiful scenery, beautiful Tony, all becomes a little much for hormonal Jaynie who has a little cry for no other reason that it’s pretty. I am feeling incredibly lucky to be here, for this love, for this trip, this everything. The sky is so clear, the landscape is ridiculous, the castles, the beautiful little towns. I am high on this shit. For real.
We pass a field that is exploding with yellow flowers and we can’t believe our eyes when we see it. I later find out that it is a rapeseed crop and is used for making rapeseed oil for cooking but the flowers are the brightest of yellow, like a yellow highlighter and I vow to run through a field of them before I leave!
We arrive into Killarney and check into our B&B, our host, Trish is lovely but only has eyes for Tony. She doesn’t speak to me much, unless referencing Home and Away.
All the talk of Sally Fletcher and Alf Stuart has made me tired so I call it a night.
DAY 6
We stay in bed with a giant map and plan our day. We have breakfast downstairs and Trish pops in – to talk to Tony. We are off to drive around the Ring of Kerry, and nothing could really prepare us for how frigging awesome this day would be!
We decide to detour to see the Gap of Dunloe and it was like we were on another planet. It is vast rocky land and mountain goats walking around and in no particular hurry to get out of the way of cars. It is breathtaking. My gorse bush is out of control (that sounds wrong), and everything is so beautifully different that it is hard to put into words. We gasp every time we drive around a bend. We get out of the car and decide to wander around in the wilderness, remains of old houses, dirt tracks that lead to nowhere, the bumble bees are buzzing around and let me tell you, these bastards are the size of sparrows and their buzzing is so loud that they sound like buses. We find a little café, which is literally the only piece of civilisation for miles, we sit and drink coffee, eat cupcakes (sprinkes for me, smarties for Tony) – we are in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by this beautiful place and we marvel at what the fuck is happening.
We continue on our journey around the Ring of Kerry, passing beautiful town after beautiful town. We detour off to Rossbeigh beach and walk along the sand. The tide is so far out that it feels like we are at the end of the earth. We drive on to Cahersiveen; a quaint little seaside fishing town, littered with forts and castles. It is just so beautifully bizarre to be in a country where ruins are part of the scenery.
Tony is prone to ‘papping’ me and is always taking photos of me when I am don’t realise and I have become acutely aware of the power he carries within his camera which would be full of double chin shots that he doesn’t show me. I make a mental note to always be nice to him so that he never makes me the star of a website called ugly.com.
We stop at a lovely little town called Waterville, it is picturesque with its colourful monopoly-like houses lined up across from the beach, we skim rocks and we watch a lady throw large rocks into the water for her dog to chase. The dog seems to enjoy it so I don’t have the heart to tell her about the invention of the tennis ball.
There are signs in some of the towns which say an Galteach – which means it is an Irish speaking town. Tony and I decide that we are going to learn to speak it,and have given ourselves a year to make it happen and we talk about how cool it will be to have conversations that our kids can’t understand.
We drive along the Wild Atlantic Way, with its rugged cliffs and mountains alongside the contrast of a blue, blue ocean from way up high. Then we reach Caherdaniel and we are suddenly level to the ocean, which gives a whole new perspective on the same incredible view.
We stop at a little town called Sneem, the cutest town so far, colourful and warm. We visit a huge castle in the middle of nowhere, and we climb through it in awe of how these incredible buildings are still here. We drive off and head to another Fort and it’s the best one yet. We walk inside a big stone ring-like barrier, and it speaks to me. It says….”cartwheels”…. so I do. I manage to land about 3 before my body reminds me that I’m 42 and should probably stop before I end up in traction.
We stop at Kenmare to pub for dinner, we eat another giant meal and Tony starts to overheat and hits the eject button and we leave still chewing the last mouthfuls of our food. We go for a walk around the town before we head home, trying desperately to walk off our meals. We see a sign advertising for Professional Actors to audition, I cast my mind back to the time that Belinda McKenzie and I were discovered in LA, and I contemplate going to the auditions but Tony reminds me that we have a pretty full schedule….. and also that I am not an actor.
We drive home, and the roads in this part of Ireland are crazy at best. Tony is in rally driving heaven as he drives around Days of Thunder style, flying around thin, winding roads that should be a 60km but are unbelievably set at 100km – and I think I may have finally solved the mystery of why there are so many funeral parlours in this country.
Back to our B&B. Hi Trish. Yes, Alf, Ailsa, Pippa etc etc. Good night.
champagneyjaynie 