it rains here. all. the. time. especially on the days that i want to go out shooting. the light is flat and boring, and you run the risk of a slow, painful death by drowning in a puddle if you step outside. if the irish are known for their luck it is counterbalanced by the fact that their weather is about as lucky as a bug on a windshield. but there really aren't any bugs here. except the mosquito that took a chunk out of my hand last week.
i drove on the wrong side of the road a couple days ago. er, i meant the not right side of the road... that would be the left. my wee vauxhol (if that's how it's spelled) corsa was just grand. we saw the north coast together, a lough and some castles with my wonderful traveling buddy, Hilary, and only got killed seven times. for some reason it's popular here to use the blasted emergency brake when you stop at a traffic signal. let's just say it's not good craic. and filling up with petrol was even worse craic. but more on that later.
this is the black beast. it's like a prius, i needed one for each foot.
the lump of a mountain here has a name that i can't remember at the moment, but it's pretty significant. st. patrick is believed to have spent his time as a slave on this mountain, shepherding sheep. because that's just about all you can do with sheep. make sure the wolves don't eat them.
this is a view of killyleagh, a small village off of strangford lough. strangford lough is where patrick is believed to have landed upon his return to ireland.
