The Reunion and the Revelry.

Thursday gets off to a late start . Having slept through my alarm I'm woken at 11.15 by the manager knocking on the door to remind me of the 11 am check out  time . 

It's hard to leave the comfort of my bed , reluctantly I roll out and quickly shower and dress. I check out and go in search of coffee. 

The older I get the more coffee I need to function in the mornings . I see a future where I'll need espresso intravenously throughout the night to stand any chance of getting out the door in one piece with all my clothes on the right way round.

After topping up the caffeine levels I drive into Galway City to get some lunch and take advantage of some free wifi . There's a good vibe around Galway in the morning , still busy with tourists . 

   Tourist Info Galway City

I fill the car with petrol and get on the road. I have a gig in Sligo tonight so need to put some miles under my belt as the day is quickly getting away from me . 

I head north along the N17 , the road immortalised in The Saw Doctors 1989 song of the same name. 

I pass through Tuam , Milltown , Claremorris , Tubbercurry . This is a route I would have travelled regularly a few years ago when driving trucks , and I'm shocked to see how many once thriving businesses have closed their doors , victims of the economic disaster of the recent past . 

 I arrive into Sligo around 5.30 pm . Sligo is a town I'm unfamiliar with , I've driven through it many many times but have never had time to see the town properly.

Firstly I need to find somewhere to lay my head for the night. I had planned on camping on nearby Rosses Point but the weather has been getting steadily worse as I travelled north and I have a sneaking suspicion my tent could be an entirely different shape when it escapes from the bag again . I search on various hotel websites but there's not many good deals to be had in Sligo town . Eventually I find a room in a hotel in nearby fishing village Mullaghmore. 

22 km's north of Sligo , Mullaghmore is a very pretty village , with Benbulben looming in the background .

    Benbulben

My hotel for the night is the Pier Head Hotel , a small hotel and bar on the waterfront. 

    The Pier Head Hotel

It's quiet in the Pier tonight , the busy summer season coming to an end. 

After a simple dinner of fresh plaice and potatoes I get ready for the gig. I check the address of the venue and am a little concerned that I can't find any advertisement for the comedy tonight. 

I drive into Sligo and after doing a couple of laps of the one way system around the town I pull up outside the venue . 

My heart starts to sink when I see no poster for comedy in the pub . My fears are confirmed and it turns out that the august show had been cancelled at the last minute .Disheartened and annoyed I return my hotel room in Mullaghmore .

    Mullaghmore Harbour

I wake up early on Friday and have breakfast overlooking the harbour . My mood has improved greatly since the previous nights disappointment.  Looking out across the harbour while I enjoyed my breakfast I realise how lucky I am to be able to do a trip like this . 

The other reason for the dramatic improvement in my mood is the fact my wife will be joining me later on today to finish off the trip. After much tough negotiation during the week we agree that Susan will get the bus to Longford where I will collect her . 

I head southeast from Sligo , picking up the N4 and passing through Carrick-on-Shannon . We keep in phone contact throughout the morning , Susan updating me on the reading and eating habits of her fellow passengers . Just under 2 hours later I drive through a very busy Longford town to the bus station. 

Longford bus station will never win any prizes for its beauty but right now it's my favourite place on earth as my wife emerges from the terminal . After a suitably smoochy reunion we get on the road , destination Letterkenny.

I retrace my steps back up the N4 . We stop for coffee and a sandwich in Carrick-on-Shannon . 

The coffee shop is a very trendy looking glass and steel structure , and whilst the coffee is delicious and strong , the food is indescribably bland . All the ingredients look fresh and inviting but they've somehow managed to remove all flavour , it doesn't taste bad , it just tastes of nothing. 

We travel north back through Sligo and on into Donegal . 

At Donegal town we pick up the N15 and carry on north through the Barnesmore Gap , the road snaking through a deep valley in the Bluestack Mountains. 

   Barnesmore Gap

We arrive in Letterkenny at around 6.30pm. 

Letterkenny is the Largest town in Donegal , located on the River Swilly .

We check in to our Hotel , The Station House , located at the bottom of the very steep Main Street . It's getting late so we decide to order Pizza for dinner . Our pizza arrives quickly , roughly the size of a dustbin lid and of similar consistincey , we're really having a bad day on the food front! 

I've been really looking forward to the gig in Letterkenny , it's a cabaret night called The Revelry . I will be the only comedian performing so this only heightens the excitement. I change into my suit and go over my set for the show . 

We decide to walk the short distance to the venue . I reassure Susan that there's no need to bring an umbrella , the weather is fine . 

A few short steps after leaving the hotel it starts to drizzle , oh dear. 

The venue is part of a large pub / nightclub complex called Voodoo. We enter the pub and after climbing several stairs and crossing a maze of corridors we enter The Vintage Rooms , it's amazing.

   The stage in the Vintage Rooms

The decor is kitsch vintage , gilt ceilings and velvet drapes all around , we love it. 

   The Vintage Rooms

We are greeted by our hosts for the night , Andrew and Taryn.  A charming couple who make us feel instantly at home , showing us around the club and making sure we had everything we needed . 

The Club fills up quickly . The crowd is a mix of ages , all dressed up to the nines . It feels like we've walk into a Vegas nightclub from the sixties , only the Donegal accents give it away .

I meet Donegal comedian Pauric Gallagher for the first time . Pauric had sent me a message earlier in the day wishing me luck for the gig , and proves to be just as friendly in person. Pauric introduces us to several people , all loyal patrons of The Revelry. 

Andrew , or Maximum Homosapien as he's known as for the rest of the night will be our MC for the night. An extremely charismatic host , he takes to the stage in his vintage tux and opens with a song. A talented singer , he quickly silences the crowd with his singing and ends the song to a huge cheer. 

The crowd suitably warmed up he introduces the first act , a young magician . She wows the crowd with sleight of hand and some stomach churning tricks involving swallowing balloons . 

Our next act is young lady who sings a couple of Patsy Kline songs , to the delight of the crowd. 

Finally it's my turn , Andrew gives me a very warm introduction and I take to the stage . 

The next 25 minutes pass quickly . The audience are wonderful , generous with their laughter and applause . I leave the stage to applause , my hands shaking from adrenaline. 

After a short break , Groom, the band for the night take to the stage . I catch up with local comedian and promoter Barry Mack who calls in to say hello. 

As we have an early start in the morning Susan and I reluctantly decide to call it a night. I shake many hands on the way to the exit and bid farewell to Andrew and Taryn . 

Susan and I agree to return to Letterkenny and The Revelry again in the future .

So after a long week my adventure in the west has come to an end . I've met some wonderful people and seen some beautiful parts of the country along the way , but now it's time to go home . 

See you next time, thanks for reading.

Tent origami and knickerbocker glory

The sound of birds wake me early on Wednesday morning  . Living in Dublin City I'm more used to waking up to sounds of traffic , car horns and doors slamming , so it takes me a few groggy minutes to figure out what I'm hearing outside the tent.

As penance for the previous nights Guinness I decide to go for a run before my breakfast . I hop into the car and drive to end of Doolin pier , I park and start running back towards the village . The strong wind and rain blowing in off the Atlantic make for a chilly run , and I cut a particularly nippley figure as I huff and puff my way up the hill from the pier. 

   View from Doolin pier 

Back at the campsite after a lovely hot shower I decide it's finally time to shave the greying beard that has been forming on my face since the previous Friday . Using my trusty Phillishave I start as usual at my left ear and begin working my way across to the other side. I reach the half way mark when my trusty  Phillishave decides to stop working . Repeatedly pressing the on-off switch proves useless , shouting at it produces similar results . I could just plug it in to recharge but that would involve driving 300km to Dublin where the lead was safely stored in my bathroom cabinet . There was nothing for it but to walk up to the village to buy some razors. Normally a man with half a beard walking the streets cursing to himself would raise a few eyebrows , but in Doolin nobody bats an eyelid . I might use the half beard technique on future travels to gauge the mood of the locality.

Finally clean shaven I have to pack up the tent. In recent years the pop up tent has grown in popularity , it's big selling point being its simplicity to erect. Simply remove from the bag and it pops up fully formed , ready to be pegged down. What they don't tell you is that , similar to a cat , the tent is eager to escape from the confines of a bag and puts up an almighty struggle when trying to get it back in. I carefully read the instructions on how to fold it up, and watch an instructional video on YouTube to be sure. Armed with my newfound knowledge on tent origami I assume the stance of a Greek wrestler and launch myself at the tent. Several minutes of brutal combat later I have the tent locked into the bag , I still have no idea how I did it.

I have a quick lunch in  Fitzpatrick's bar  of hearty seafood chowder and soda bread and hit the road. I travel north through Lisdoonvarna into the heart of the Burren , the grass in the fields give way to rock the further north I travel , a stunning landscape , as beautiful as it is barren . I descend the aptly named Corkscrew Hill , an exhilarating drive .

   the Burren

I turn right onto the R480 and pass by the Aillwee Caves , a favourite destination for school tours for many years . A series of deep underground caves famous for its stalagmites and stalactites formed over many thousands of years. I laugh as I recall the excitement of visiting the caves in primary school . A long bus journey , and the momentary fear when they turn out the lights in the cave for a few seconds , prompting screams and a few unfortunate smells to escape from the tiny explorers.

The road climbs for a few km's and I stop at the Poulnabrone Dolmen , a portal tomb dating back to Neolithic times , containing the remains of up to 22 adults and 6 children as well as weapons and personal items. It's believed to have been used as a ceremonial location well into the Celtic period. It's hard to contemplate what life must have been like in such unforgiving surroundings.

    Poulnabrone Dolmen 

I retrace my steps back onto the N67 and continue on through Kinvarra and Kilcolgan where I turn left for Galway. 

Galway , " The City of the Tribes"  considered the capital of the west and  I think the friendliest city in Ireland. Galway has a very rich arts heritage and plays host to many festivals throughout the year . Tonight I'm gigging at Comedy Cocktails Galway but first I need to find some accommodation . 

A quick search on Booking.com secures me a room in The BlackCat in Salthill on the outskirts of the city . 

   The BlackCat

The drive through Salthill brings memories flooding back of childhood holidays. Salthill was a favourite destination and I recall many happy days playing crazy golf with Dad and my brother Pat. 

The leisure centre with its pool and huge water slide that runs outside the building was a favourite of ours and I'm sad to see it in such disrepair , damaged by flooding and generally looking unloved.

   Salthill Leisure Centre 

The BlackCat is very trendy looking Boutique Hotel with a tapas restaurant and wine bar doing a busy trade on the ground floor. I check in and am shown to my room . While the room is very small it's finished to a high standard and has the most comfortable bed I've ever encountered.

I get dressed for the gig and grab some dinner before heading into the city centre. 

I have dinner in The Galleon Restaurant , an institution in Salthill serving hungry holidaymakers for over 45 years. I haven't been here for probably 25 years and it hasn't changed much in that time . It has an old world charm and is packed with families. As I look around at the happy dinners I feel a lump in my throat as it reminds me of so many happy times with my Parents , Dad always ordering a mixed grill and myself and Pat racing through dinner to get to desert, the Galleon's famous " knickerbocker glory". 

 

   the Galleon Restaurant 

After dinner a quick taxi ride has me outside the venue Busker Brownes.

  Busker Brownes Galway 

I meet John and Declan who run Comedy Cocktails who as always make me feel very welcome. We go through the running order and I meet the other Comedians, Robbie Farrell and Connor Macdonagh Flynn. We exchange war stories of great gigs and horrible stage deaths as the crowd files in. The crowd are very young , including a large group of 18 year old Belgian lads who make me feel 100 years old.

The night passes quickly , the punters leave happy but I'm not happy with my performance. I feel I didn't do enough to engage the Belgian group and am annoyed with myself . 

I have a rule that I allow myself 1 hour to feel bad about a gig if it doesn't go as planned , any longer than that is a waste, it's a rule I find hard to stick to though.

Afterwards myself , Declan  and Connor go to the famous  Roisin Dubh to grab a drink and dissect the night. I usually have to drive straight back to Dublin after gigs in Galway so it's nice to relax and have a chat with the lads.

    Roisin Dubh 

After an couple of hours of drinks and chat I notice a poster on the wall next to me with my name on it.

It's an poster for a gig I'm playing next tues in The Roisin , I still find it odd to see my name on posters.

   Poster in Roisin Dubh

After solving all the worlds problems I bid farewell to the lads and return to my comfy bed for badly needed sleep.

Tomorrow Sligo

Table for one ? Not in Doolin

Tuesday morning begins quietly. Dromid hostel is still empty apart from the two German cyclists who I find silently eating bowls of sad looking cereal , bowel friendly no doubt. They're still reluctant to chat, perhaps long days pedalling away on razor sharp saddles along bumpy Coastal roads has left them with other things on their minds.

    Macgillycuddy Reeks

I pack the car and bid farewell to the lads , leaving them to enjoy their fibre rich pellets. 

The drive to Caherciveen is spectacular , every bend revealing a picture postcard landscape of the Atlantic coast .

 

   Coast Road Cahersiveen

I grab a badly needed coffee in Caherciveen and carry on through Killorglin , where I turn left for Tralee.  

I pass through Castlemaine and Milltown . The road climbs steeply to reveal Tralee below in the distance . Tralee is a busy working town that seems a bit more real than the twee tourist heavy Killarney. 

From Tralee I head north to Listowel . Dominated by the huge Kerry Foods factory on the outskirts, Listowel has a rich literary and theatrical heritage . The centre of town is home to a statue of Playwright and novelist John B. Keane , who's huge legacy of work includes The Field and Sive.

   John B. Keane Statue

15 km north of Listowel I arrive in The village of Tarbert where I wait to board the Shannon Ferry to Killimer. While waiting I finish the last of the Durrus cheese and bread, much to the delight of a pair of crows who sat intimidatingly on the bonnet of my car , staring me out of it until I shared some of my artisan treasure.

   Ferry Terminal Tarbert

www.shannonferries.com

The ferry was very busy , a mix of trucks and delivery vans jockeyed for space with caravans and cars.

The crossing is pleasant, taking only 20 mins and saves a couple of hours driving .

   Shannon Ferry

I disembark from the ferry and head north through the seaside towns of Kilrush and Kilkee , both winding down from the summer season. I pass Donald Trumps latest purchase at Doonbeg, a typically understated sign at the entrance leaving no doubt who the boss was!

   Trump International Doonbeg

After passing through Milltown Malbay I travel along the coast , arriving in Lahinch. 

Lahinch plays host to thousands of surfers every year, drawn by the big waves and lively night life . Lahinch was also the location to one of the greatest comedy deaths ever witnessed. Many years ago I arrived in lahinch with Comedians Jason Coughlan , now RedFM breakfast show host , and J P Quinn , resident D J at Havana Browns in Cork. Three young very inexperienced comedians , determined to take lahinch by storm. The three of us squeezed  into the front of my Fiat Scudo van , P.A. System and speakers in the back. 

We had been booked to play in one of the bars on the Main Street by a friend of Jason's , lured with promises of a great crowd and a bed in his mothers house. We arrived to find a stage roughly the the size of milk crate , made of what looked remarkably like , well , a milk crate.

Undeterred we set up the Mic and speakers and awaited the adoring crowds to arrive. 

The crowd filled up , including the promoters mother , who's house we were going to be staying in. She sat right at the front , and began drinking at a rate normally seen in people found wandering the Sahara desert. By show time she was shouting encouragement , banging the bar for emphasis.

J P did quite well as the opening act , the crowd boisterous but happy.

 Then I took to the stage .

I opened with some ground breaking material about the differences between men and women , which our landlady for the night took as personal attack on her and grew visibly angry . Without the experience or skill to deal with the barrage of expletives being showered on me I simply tried to talk over her. This tactic only angered her more , as she loudly withdrew the offer of a bed for the night. 

In the space of 10 minutes I had single handedly poisoned the atmosphere in the pub and left us homeless for the night. I quietly left the stage , handing the mic to Jason who had the unenviable task of facing the crowd next. This he did , and with some success , thankfully. 

Homeless, dejected and with morale very low we decided the only sensible course of action was to go to the disco and get hammered. Getting hammered proved to be well within our skill set and by the end of the night confidence had been restored. However, there was still the issue of no accommodation . The solution was parked on the Main Street , an so we took our sleeping bags and bedded down for the night in the back of the van amongst the speakers and tool boxes.

We awoke on the Sunday morning , the sight and smell of three hungover comedians in the back of an airless van an attack on all the senses. The bed I'd made out of speakers had shifted during the night , leaving me folded between them , my back twisted in a way never intended by nature. To escape I opened the side door of the van and slid gracefully head first onto the footpath, followed by John and JP , the 3 stooges, ready to fight another day! 

I leave lahinch and drive through Ennistymon to my destination for the night, Doolin.  

Doolin is a tiny seaside village in the North of Clare, overlooked by the Cliffs of Moher and departure point for Arran Island ferries. The village is very busy with tourists , a mix of young backpackers and families. There are many choices of accommodation , with hostels , b&b's and a hotel, but I choose to camp and pitch my tent in O Connor's Riverside Camping and Caravan Park.

   Campsite Doolin

 campingdoolin.com

The tent goes up quickly and realising I'm short a guy rope I quickly fashion one from the handle of an Arnotts carrier bag , Bear Grylls eat your heart out. 

The campsite is well equipped , with a shop , showers and games room with WiFi. 

I make use of the WiFi and shower and make the short trip across the road to Fitzpatrick's Bar in search of nourishment. 

Fitzpatrick's is a large bar with a restaurant at the rear , where I get seated immediately . I order the catch of day , fresh cod and open the book I'd brought with me. As I read,  an elderly gentleman entered the restaurant and asked if it's okay to sit at my table. 

 

"Of course" I answered . 

This initially caused some confusion to the waiting staff, perplexed at the notion of two strangers sitting at the same table . Eventually they accept that I don't mind the gentleman sharing the table and take his order.

I broke the silence with some general chit chat about the weather and our surroundings. It was only when the subject of former Taoiseach , Albert Reynolds , funeral came up that my new companion Noel became animated .

Noel tells me about growing up in Leitrim and remembers Albert Reynolds taking money at the door of the dance hall he ran in Roosky. By the time we'd finished our dinner I'd heard Noel's life story , from growing up in 1940's Leitrim to moving to New York  in 1964 where he worked as a butcher in Queens and drove taxis in Manhattan . He spoke of the heavy drinking that claimed his brother , and how he never married and the loneliness that he sometimes felt now at 72. A fascinating man , he thanked me for the chat and wished me luck with my trip .  

After dinner I take a seat at the bar amongst the backpackers and holiday makers to enjoy a couple of pints and the trad music session that was in full swing . The session was made up of local musicians and a older couple from America. A young Dublin man with a Guitar was invited to sing a song. Reluctant at first he sang two songs in a surprisingly soulful voice. 

It was lovely to watch the trad musicians respectfully watching the young guy as he sang his song , even though it was a different genre a couple of the players eventually joined in with guitar and flute, lifting the guys confidence in doing so. 

   Pint and a Drop

After a couple of pints and a couple of small ones I waddle back to campsite , where I find the opening of the zip of the tent door has increased in difficulty by a factor of ten. After some cursing and biting of tongue I'm in the tent and zipped into my sleeping bag . 

Tomorrow Galway .

 

The Emporium, The Pass and The Green Door

I awoke yesterday to the sounds of diesel engines and window shutters sliding open. My room in O Donovans Hotel overlooked the Main Street , giving me a Birdseye view of the town beginning a new day. Delivery vans vied for space on the narrow street , as they fed the shops and businesses with supplies . I've always loved this time of day , watching a town or city come alive. In Dublin or London it can be a stressful time of day, traffic congestion and short tempers reign. In Clonakilty, whilst still busy, there's seems to be a generally good mood and time for chat amongst the drivers and shop workers.

I spent a couple of minutes frantically searching the room for my breakfast voucher , eventually finding it in my wash bag , where I had put it for safe keeping and then immediately forgot about it.

I queued up with the rest of the hungry patrons for my full Irish, served by two very chirpy ladies.

Suitably full of caffeine and bacon products I packed up the car and pointed west.

A leisurely half hour drive brought me through Roscarberry  and on to Skibereen. I continued as far as Ballydehob , the scene of many debilitating hangovers in my early twenties when my brother Pat owned a bar there. I swung right to take the mountain road over to Bantry , where I saw a young guy with his thumb out looking for a lift . I can remember standing in the exact same spot about 15 years ago so it seemed only right I pull over .

My new passenger introduced himself.

 " Raven, like the bird".

Over the next 20 minutes I learned that Raven grew up in Ballydehob , moving briefly to Norfolk where he toiled in a hotel kitchen in what sounded almost like slave conditions. It's amazing what people will share about themselves to a complete stranger. I dropped Raven on the Bantry drimoleague road and continued on through Bantry to my first stop of the day, Mannings Food Emporium.

   Mannings Food Emporium

www.manningsemporium.ie

Mannings is an essential stop on any trip through Ballylickey for food lovers. The Manning family have had a store on this site since the 40's where they started selling milk and cream from their herd of Jersey cows. Over the years the store has been passed on through the family to become a supplier of fine artisan produce and a huge supporter of locally sourced produce. 

My first experience of Mannings was a few years ago when I stopped there with my wife on the way to Allihies on the Beara Penninsula . We met Mr Manning and ordered a charcuterie board for two. There are no menus , you get what Mr Manning picks for you. Mr Manning has probably forgotten more about food than I'll ever know so it was an arrangement I was happy to go along with. The food was spectacular , the meat and cheeses perfectly matched , heaven.

A severe looking lady and her family poured out of a Range Rover and sat at the table next to ours , the kids complaining loudly about  being bored and hungry whilst Mum and Dad sat in silence looking impatient.

The matriarch called for menus

" there are no menus " , explained Mr Manning .

 

" I'll make you up a board for four , okay?"

" am .... Okay" she replied.

They sat looking very unsure about the whole no menus business , when Mr Manning arrived back with a stack of plates and cutlery .

" you might pass them around there would you?" He said as he landed the stack of plates into her hands. 

Her face took on the look of someone sucking a particularly sour lemon as she passed the plates and cutlery around. I could barely contain my delight when he returned with cups and saucers to add to the pile. 

    Mannings Food Emporium

After our lunch we picked a few bits and pieces to buy in the shop. Mr Manning starting totting up the total on his new till, pressing the buttons timidly as though the till would explode if pressed wrong. After entering all the items he pressed the total, which came up on the display at a cool €30,027

"Hmm, I think something's gone wrong " he explained

There followed much furrowing of brows as everything was re entered in the till until finally we reached a more reasonable bill, worth every penny for the entertainment alone.

   Tourist Info West Cork style

I drove on through Glengarriff towards Castletownbere. The landscape takes on a more barren mountainous look as you go further west and brings out a calm in me I still can't explain , the heather and rock an antidote to the mania of city living. After a few miles I turn right towards Lauragh and on to the Healy Pass.

Named after Cork politician , Tim Michael Healy , and built in 1847 , the Healy Pass snakes over the Caha mountain range from Adrigole to Lauragh. A series of severe hairpins climb to 334 metres. Built originally to aid famine relief in the 1840's , it's main purpose now seems to be frightening the life out of tourists as they steer tiny rental cars slowly along the narrow ribbon of tarmac, which is shared with many fearless sheep. 

   Healy Pass

I stop briefly in Kenmare to pick up a charger for my I pad and quickly get on the road again. I follow the N70 to Sneem , where I stop for lunch. Sneem , like many towns and villages in this part of Ireland is teeming with tour buses and cars. 

Lunch is a plate of delicious fresh scampi in Breens Riverside Cafe. 

The weather deteriorated rappidly as wound my way around the coast, fog rolling in from the Atlantic .

I had planned on camping in Caherdaniel but decide to carry on into Waterville , a busy seaside town where a statue stands to former summer resident Charlie Chaplin. 

A quick check on booking.com finds a room in a hostel 11km away for €25 , perfect.

    Dromid Hostel

Hosteldromidwaterville.com

I arrive at Hostel Dromid at 7.30pm. Situated 11km from Waterville along the Kerry Way , it looks out onto the McGillycuddy Reeks .

I'm greeted by the caretaker , Alice , a native of Tipperary , checks me in. She explained how the rooms are all colour coded to make check in easier and then proceeded to get thoroughly confused about who was in what coloured room . After checking note books and every key in the place I'm put in the green room . 

I'm alone in the hostel apart from two German cyclists who meet my attempts at conversation with blank stares . Having stocked up earlier in Mannings I have a delicious simple dinner of Durrus cheese, Gubeen salami and some bread , washed down with a nice Tempranillo.

Tomorrow, Clare.

Pope Paul returns

  I woke early on Sunday morning , still on a high from Saturday nights gig. The euphoria waned somewhat when I remembered that my friend Gareth had very kindly nominated me for an ALS ice bucket challenge , marvellous. In case you're living in a dark cave with no access to any form of media the ice bucket challenge involves having ice water dumped over your head to raise money for Motor Neurone Disease- text MND to 50300 to donate- all captured on camera and uploaded to the social media of your choice.

As I was bringing a birthday gift to my Godchild Holly I decided to kill two birds with the one stone and do my challenge whilst there. Holly's father-my best friend Alan, was only too delighted to do his bit for charity by absolutely soaking me with icy water, a true friend.

I arrived at Alan's to a warm welcome as always from his wife Wendy and their two impossibly cute little girls, Holly 4 and ruby 2. Ruby was quite insistent on showing me her slide and bike, checking several times throughout the afternoon that I had seen them. After a lovely dinner it was time to face my fate . I changed into a fetching pair of swimming shorts and descended the stairs. Alan sadly explained he only had a very small bucket which had a hole in it, but as luck would have it he had an enormous bin full of ice water instead , hurrah! We quickly got on with the soaking as we feared the children would combust with excitement at any moment if we didn't .

                                           Ice Bucket Challenge 

After a few dozen viewings of the video it was time for me to leave and head for West Cork. There followed several rounds of hugs and vague plans to meet up again soon. 

I headed towards Bandon , still unsure where to stop for the night. It was getting late so I decided to make Clonakilty my home for the night. A very pretty market town situated between Bandon and Skibereen, it holds many fond memories for me. The most recent memory is undoubtedly my stag party which was held there last year. My friends and I descended on the town last year where the very kindly dressed me as the Pope for the nights festivities.

   Clonakilty
   

I arrived into town at around 8pm. I went to the door of a few b&b's looking for a room . The first one I tried  had several rooms available , but then quoted a price so high as to cause an involuntary tightening of the sphincter. I tried several more with no luck. Quickly losing hope I pulled up outside O Donovans Hotel on Main Street and after a short few minutes negotiating with the Shrewd West Cork man behind reception was in possession of a room key and a voucher for breakfast.

    O Donovans Hotel

O Donovans appealed to me immediately, an old building, it's ramshackle decor only adding to its charm. I quickly threw my bags into the room and went out for a wander .

   Main Street Clonakilty

It was quiet on Main Street as I passed the brightly painted shops and businesses . I did a quick loop of the town , passing a statue of the great Michael Collins on my way. I arrived back on Main Street in need of refreshment , and slipped into De Barra's . 

   De Barra's

De Barra's Bar and Folk Club has been a legendary venue for over 30 years , playing host to thousands of acts.

You enter into a cosy , softly lit bar, which leads into a back room used as a music venue . It's the sort of place you could happily lose a weekend, and many have.

I settled myself at the end of the bar while the bar man poured me a perfect pint of Murphys stout . The atmosphere is buzzing, the crowd a nice mix of locals dressed in t Shirts  and tourists, dressed in hi tech rain gear. 

I fell into conversation with a young guy called Tom at the bar . Conversation is never hard to find in West Cork and topics ranged from the beauty of a settling pint of stout to the band who were getting ready to play - Tiny Ruins Trio.

" You look very familiar Tom, have we met  before?"  

" I dunno" said Tom , scratching his chin.

" you do look familiar though"

After several minutes ruling out shared family or work Tom's eyes lit up , 

" confession!" He exclaimed .

"Confession Tom?"  I replied .

"Remember  , you gave me 12 Hail Marys and 1000 our fathers?"

I had, in fact I'd dished out thousands of them . During the aforementioned stag party I had taken to the role of Pope with gusto , blessing pints and having my ring kissed like a good'un ,culminating in me hearing confessions in the smoking room of De Barra's . There I offered absolution to all comers, including Tom , in exchange for penance , and pints. 

   Pope Paul

I left Tom to his drink and wandered back to O Donovans. Before turning in for the night I stopped into the hotel bar to have a quick nightcap, served to me by an endearingly flustered bar man with a slightly worried look on his face.

 All in all a good day. 

The Butterfly effect

"Thanks Dave", I said, and I meant it. I had only made Daves acquaintance a few seconds earlier but already he'd helped me more than he'd ever know, turning a good night into a great night. 

We'll hear more about Dave later, but first let me thank you for joining me on my very first blog post, the first of many I hope. As I'm on a weeks holiday from the day job , I've been released into the public, where over the next week I plan on travelling the roads of the west of Ireland , in search of craic, good food , and the kind of calm that comes from a trip to the west. I'll be doing a few gigs along the way but the plan will be kept fairly loose other than that, just how I like it.

 

The first leg of any journey unfortunately has to begin with packing, an activity I like to approach like most stressful jobs by doggedly ignoring until the very last moment and then running around in a blind panic, and so I found myself at 7a.m. yesterday morning in a pre coffee daze, bumbling around the apartment throwing a selection of underpants and toiletries into bags. In the midst of the panic my wife presented me with a bag , worried about her 35 year old man child fending for himself for a week she had prepared a care package , which included amongst other things,  books, deodorant , biscuits, noodles, beer, pain killer and worryingly, Imodium AND laxatives. Clearly her woman's intuition foresees some intestinal catastrophe for me in the very near future.

"Are you sure you have everything ?"

Now when my wife says "everything", she means everything, I looked at the collection of bags, tents, hanging garments , food , medication, and electrical goods in my car , and answered her in the affirmative , men have gone to Everest with less.

 

First leg of the journey was to Cork, where I had a gig at City Limits. This is a journey I make frequently, and usually follows a similar pattern, giving out about traffic leaving Dublin , stopping to top up petrol and caffeine and then an couple of hours of boring motorway. Along the way I picked up Oisin Hanlon, a new young comedian from mountmellick, and as generally happens when comedians are in a confined space together , spent the journey dissecting the minutiae of the comedy world. Arriving in cork I deposited Oisin to wander the streets of Cork , while I went to visit my Mum and Dad. 

I might be 35 years old but am still very much the baby of the family, a role I happily slip into as soon as I step through the door in Ballinlough , letting my amazing mother feed and water me while Dad catches me up on all the local gossip, deaths , marriages, political scandals, parking infringements, and any minor surgical procedures my elderly neighbours may have recently had, wonderful stuff. 

Before I knew it , it was time to get ready for the gig, showered, shaved and dressed and out the door. Right on time, here come the nerves, they've never left me, I'd be worried if they did, only the ability to ignore them has improved. 

   City Limits Poster

Arriving at City Limits is always special, a power house in Irish comedy. It always seemed like a far off world to me growing up in Cork, and  later going to see the likes of Dara o Brien , Jim Jeffries and Flight of the Concords, to be playing on the same stage now is still quite surreal to me. I walked into to see Keith fox and Oisin and Tom "the Bear" o Mahony, tremendous company on any occasion and for a while the nerves leave. I catch up with "the Boss" , Brian, club owner , promoter and all round legend of the Irish comedy scene .

 

Soon the crowd fills up and Ross Browne, our MC arrives, before long the lights are dimmed , show time.

Ross, prowls the stage expertly taking control of the room and setting the mood for the night, first up is Keith, a hugely affable Offaly man, they love him, then newcomer Oisin was up for a quick spot, bouncing around with the energy that only comes with being 22. After a quick break it was my turn into the ring, waiting patiently at the back of the room while Ross got the crowd warmed up, the nerves go into overdrive. Myself and Tom chat while Guzzling the comedians cocktail(tap water, pint glass), I start to yawn, a sure sign the nerves are taking over, my stomach does summersaults, Tom being the pro that he is clearly senses this and leaves me to get in the zone.

"are you ready for your next act"?

Here we go , total panic now, dry mouth, mind goes blank.

"Please welcome Paul Crowley"

   City Limits 

After a few short steps I'm on stage, nerves are gone, straight into my opener, punch line, pause and..... Big laugh, Yes , the crowd is with me, totally relaxed now, I get into a nice rhythm , bit of chat with the audience, lovely. Just finishing a routine about engagement rings when out of the darkness it came, a butterfly! Straight up he came and landed on my hand holding the mike, the crowd clearly excited by the new wildlife looked expectantly to me for an answer, I looked at him, praying he'd stay put for a few seconds, I christened him Dave and explained how we had been rehearsing that bit for the day, he then flew off and I casually thanked him

"Thanks dave"

The crowd erupted, I'm in heaven now, desperately trying to maintain a cool exterior , all the while I'm screaming like a giddy child in my head, " YOU FUCKING BEAUTY DAVE"! 

After 15 joyous minutes I'm off stage. I grab a lovely pint and sit down to laugh like a drain at Tom for 30 mins. 

As first days of a holiday go , this has set the bar quite high. Today for a treat I'm on my way to my friends house to get buckets of freezing water thrown over me , but I'll leave that till tomorrow!

   City Limits