What do they say? After the feast comes the famine? Or is it after the Lodge at Ashford Castle (as in previous blog) comes the Travelodge at Limerick? The difference between our two consecutive hotels (apart from the fact that one room was three times the cost of the other) was encapsulated by the performance of our door persons. At the Lodge we were greeted by green-uniformed, gold-braided men in top hats, named Paul and Michael (they introduced themselves as we arrived). One of whom admired our Land Rover.
The ‘doorman’ at the Travelodge I first ‘met’ lounging by the door way, smoking a fag, at 1.20 am. He didn’t introduce himself in fact he ignored me completely. He did not admire my Land Rover.
I had got up in the middle of the night to check that my much-admired Defender had not been nicked and there he was dressed in black T shirt, no gold braid other than his piercings which nicely off-set his tats. Not that piercings and tats make you a bad person. There seemed to be a number of dubious characters hanging round the hotel and the one with the most noticeable piercings in the form of rings hanging from several parts of his head, turned out, with his quite normal looking mate, to be from Leeds. We got on famously. No way would he now rob our vehicle, now we had been introduced.
Nevertheless, we spent an anxious night. Not only for the future of the Land Rover itself, but also, given that in the pod on top of the vehicle, was an expensive Martin D28 guitar. Yes, I know I should have taken it inside and the guitar also but that would mean I would have to explain the trouble I’ve been having opening and closing said pod. Less trouble now I’ve got the step ladders to stand on. What did you buy in Ireland as a souvenir to take home? Oh, we bought a pair of step-ladders (see above). Very nice too.
So with some relief we awoke from fitful sleep to find the Land Rover still where I had left it. We set off to walk the dogs, trying to find somewhere we could let them off the lead. I am bound to report that trying to find such places is about as difficult as trying to find dog-friendly hotels in Ireland (hence our stay at the Travelodge). We developed a theory that those who devised such restrictive rules lived in fear of the peasants and their wolf-hounds coming off their farms with their dirty, smelly, working dogs (Brian, restaurant owner’s words, not mine) into town and creating canine havoc among the middle classes with their small dogs on their leads.
So we hit the road again this time heading for Killarney, which is where I’m writing this from. We’re staying one night here before heading for the Dingle peninsula and the freedom of our own (rented) house and all those open beaches with no restrictions, unless they’ve introduced them since we were last here. Wish us good luck now.
