a game of 2 halves

As I indicated yesterday, our Irish holiday was in 2 distinct parts- 3 nights in Dublin and 3 in Portrush, county Antrim, in northern Ireland.

The Dublin portion was a wonderful time for us; Bloomsday itself, the 16th June, was for me, and I do not say this lightly, one of the happiest days of my life; a day where everything went perfectly according to plan, and even exceeded the high expectations I had for it. Beautiful weather, warm sunshine, with wispy cirrus clouds adorning a stunning azure vault- just as Joyce envisaged in his original Bloomsday. And the events, with people in original costume reading extracts from the great book, wandering the city tracing the footsteps of the man himself, noting the things that had changed since 1904, and those that hadn't; well, it was such a perfect day; I'm glad I spent it with my wife...

The Ulster segment, however, was very different. On arriving at our bed and breakfast, we took a wrong turning and arrived at the front door of the house next door. The owner arrived just behind us, and when we asked him if this was "the cottage" he swept his hand towards the house and said: "does this look like a cottage to you?"
No "I think the cottage you're looking for is next door" or anything else. He simply turned his back on us and went inside, slamming the door in our faces.

The following day, we were looking for a parking place, when we, quite inadvertently, stole a space from someone who was not quite so quick off the mark as us. When this happens to me, I might curse under my breath, but then get on with it and find somewhere else. But this man leaped out of his car and started to bellow at us as if I'd just raped his daughter. However, I was now ensconced and wasn't going anywhere. He moved away, muttering angrily, and for the rest of the day I half expected him to track us down with a posse of heavily armed Orangemen, intent on tarring and feathering the pair of us.

The following day, we climbed a local mountain. After an arduous climb, we approached the trig point, where a group of older people were sitting with their packed lunches. As soon as they spotted us, they gathered their things together hurriedly and made a quick exit. Did we look that threatening? But they wren't quick enough. I strode up to them and said: "No need to leave on our account, we're mostly harmless, I assure you. We're not even armed"

What is it with these people? Why so unfriendly, so hostile? The contrast with their neighbours south of the border could hardly be greater. In Dublin, everyone fell over themselves to be friendly and welcoming. Well, I've learned my lesson. I shall not be returning to the six counties in my lifetime, unless I can confine myself to the catholic enclaves at least...