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Wednesday, September 11, 2002

By 04:00 the millpond has become a vomit ride. The GPS registers our speed fluctuation 16 .. 24 mph. We're on a corner of the vessel - exacerbating the movement.

The smell of cheap tobacco smoke and talking neighbours is literally nauseating.

At 04:20 Judith throws up. "That's better!" she says 10 minutes later. (She's travelled widely and this is the very first time she has been seasick in her 53.6 years.)

We leave our cabin at 07:00 and enjoy a full fat Irish Breakfast!

We rejoin the cats imprisoned in the cars. We await our instructions/clearance to drive off the boat.

It is raining!

Road Signs

We follow signs to N71. Seems there is Irish humour or stupidity afoot.
We're in some new housing estate. No signs of the N71. I guess most people do this just for the fun of it. This is our introduction to road signs in Ireland. Complete garbage to our ignorant English eyes!

I have my GPS pre-programmed with the grid reference of the Rectory at Ballineen. I follow the GPS's arrow. Judith follows me. We soon pick up the N71.

Arrival

SignWe're at the Rectory by 09:30. It's still raining.

The cats are released into a small bedroom, made comfortable and the door securely shut.
Ballineen Rectory - FrontBallineen Rectory - BackKen and Brent arrive. They unload. 

I provide coffee at regular intervals. Judith directs. 

Ken comments that its a pleasure to have stress free customers. Judith has it all planned. I'm a visitor, so there are no arguments from me about where things should be put.

Brent gets verbal abuse from me. Best thing to do when young people are being polite and getting on with things.
The "men" quit at 16:00. All the boxes and furniture have been unloaded.

Hotel

HotelPetrified Tree TrunkJudith and I release the cats into the house, and head off for the Celtic Ross Hotel at Rosscarbery on the coast 15 miles away.

We booking in with duff room keys: the receptionist was so overwhelmed by my carma that she forget to program them!

We are soon in the bar enjoying a pint of real Guinness. A respectable Irish gent called Jim talks to us He gives us his potted life history.

"Dour Irish." Live with them and they're not the happy jovial people the world expects.

"That's an act for the tourists." he adds.

After the good food at the restaurant we take a short walk along the causeway. We retire early at 21:30 and sleep well.
There are no meowing cats to annoy us.

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