Digs at the Ard Aoibhinn, Spiddal, Connermara, approx 10miles west of Galway city centre.
Tim, Keith P, DS, Roy, DC, JC, Neil B, Shaun
Surprise, surprise visitor Graham A
Biker spike
Predicted Résumé:
Thursday Spiddal
Friday Arran isles and Spiddal
Sat Galway Beach Clifden
Sun Lake walk and Spiddal
Mon Dublin
Arriving at Manchester airport, Keith handed in his bulky walking sticks at the check in desk. Not to be outdone, an Irishman in the next queue checked in with a pair of stepladders!! Well we were on our way to Ireland.
Ryanair were spot on this year with no hold ups and at a bargain cost of only £61.30 return. Delays began however after we had touched down as we attempted to find the cars hidden in the multi storey. 2 nissan primeras had been provided through Windsor Rahney Ltd. Little did we know that the cars would be so up to date that neither had tape players, just cd players. Typical, none of us had got any, we’d bought tapes. Just hope we don’t have to listen to Crusties favourite radio channels announcing memorials and deaths.
Crustie opted for the automatic model whilst ‘Schumacher’ Tim had to make do with the manual.
Going west, headlights flashed as the Blueberry truckers café came into view and five minutes later we were all tucking into truckers breakfasts.
A break at Athlone gave us an opportunity to sample our first pint of guinness. It proved to be the best pint of the whole trip, or was it? Keith’s vertigo attacks began as we strolled along the river bank (a 2 foot high wall), memories of steve (pedro) came flooding back.
Another stint on the road saw Crustie falling asleep at the wheel and then the chunnering began complaining that Tim was driving too fast. Another break at Athenry and DC achieved retribution for not getting a reduction on a plaque bearing the words of the Fields of Athenry by … piddling in the Fields…public house. Time for another sample of black stuff. Through a haze of smoke generated by a group of 13 year old schoolgirls smoking like chimneys, Neil began to regurgitate tv commercials, imitating Henri with his veroom veroom outbursts. Perhaps it was the Smithicks Xtra with a strength of 17.1% that affected his legs. His rhythmic dolphin impressions were amazing.
On arrival at the digs ‘Tantrum Tim’ was eventually offered the single room whilst JC bunked up with Crustie; much to everyones relief.
Joined at last by Graham, who had driven down from his relatives up north, and Spike, who had biked across, we strolled the 5 minute stroll down the road to the town!! Not a lot of choice in town but we began to neck the Guinness again and all was well. Helpful as always, my magnetism attracted ‘token man’ who was struggling to get his change into the ciggy machine. No food was available so Supercrustie came to the rescue by bringing back supermacs and chips from across the road. A snippet of authentic traditional music in the background and we were contented.
Graham wizzed back to his own digs which was only 10 miles or so up the road. Although he had been booked into our digs he had cancelled it on arrival and booked his own digs 10 miles up the road!! How anti social.
Back at the digs Crustie began playing ‘find the nob’ in his bedroom that he shared with JC. Mmmmh!!
Neil was adamant that he was going to have a veggie breakfast and was duly served up with 2 sausages, bacon, pork chops and steak. What a hog. The maps came out and a boat trip to Inis Mor, the largest of the 3 Aran islands was chosen.
On the island there were several modes of transport available to get around. A group of nuns, kitted out in a mixture of sandals, boots and trainers chose the pony and traps. We chose minibuses. And Roy chose pushbikes. So with concessions obtained we set off on our bikes.
Big Buoys??
Neil
noted the sea life activity on the coastline pointing out a group of swans.
Crustie duly corrected him, informing him that they were herons. What imbo
seals. When is a heron not a heron - when it’s a red heron of course.
JC upset local lass by insisting that girls were wimps and ‘That’s why we haven’t got any in our party!’
It was pointed out
that Roy was carrying JC’s rucksack. ‘Around my little finger’ JC gestered. 
Ahha, that’s what it meant!
Continuing on we parked the bikes and clambered up to the celtic stone fort of Dun Aengus. The views were stunning with a cliff edge Steve Willis would have died for.
Racing back down the island Neil was caught chatting up a young wench who asked him if it was worth seeing. Disappointed she headed off to the highest point on the island instead to take in the views.
The
29th…. Tim’s birthday. Roy and Tim had made headway to an inn and
guided those trailing behind into the beer garden. 9 pints were in! 
Cheers Tim.
The barman offered advice on the horse in the adjacent field. How often does Roy take advice, how often does he annoy one?? The advice….’If you piss the horse off then he’ll jump the fecking wall.
Hunky Dorys had to make do to stave off the hunger. A visit to the toillette before leaving proved a little difficult for DC who had to climb onto a stool to reach the trough!
A
short freewheel took us back to the harbour to return the bikes and a last pint
or two at Joe Macs
It had been a tiring day for some of us.
Dtd, ddt, tdd ??????
Out for a meal and we were split onto 2 separate tables, a fish table and a meat table. JC phoned home to report all was well and arrived late at the restaurant. He thought his luck was in when asked if he was looking for a group of men but was eventually shown upstairs to where we were sitting. Now, not one to make a mountain out of a molehill, but my steak was definitely a minute steak compared to DC’s 6hour cow. On the bright side, at least I had vegetables to make up for the shortfall, (unlike JC.)
The local hostelries beckoned again. Roy’s knee was giving him some jip so he perched himself on a stool, much to the annoyance of a local lass who muttered that she hated ignorant men. Keith cleared the pub with his wind instrument, (Not for the first time!).
Graham appeared more relaxed than usual following his recent days of over indulgence in whisky and beer! demanding more beer and less talking. Smile and duck became the favourite items on the menu as ‘perv’ Graham clicked away on his brownie. Ten copies please Graham. He also happened to mention that Dave C wasn’t his usual bullish self, what did he mean??
At 10 to 12 Crustie’s knee had improved, the door was shut to keep the draught out but Crustie had clicked. ‘You can ring my bell…..’
Clifden town was
the first port of call, then onto the ‘Omey Strand’ beach to play in the sand
where we were surrounded by horseriders. No toilets could be found on the O.S.
map. No opportunities anywhere to stoop. I was fast running out of time as we
headed around the headland, I couldn’t hold on any longer. Unknown to the rest
of us I wasn’t on my own. Crustie who had gone back
to
move the cars with Tim was also suffering and found solstice behind a rocky
outcrop. A beached rowing boat provided an ideal
photo opportunity. Get on with it please, I just won’t make it! At last,
rabbit holes in the sand. Art Garfunkels song rang
out..’Brown eyes’. Is it right sh..te doesn’t stick to fur? Sadly, the
rabbits thought they were being treated to marmite soldiers. How wrong they
were. They’re now all suffering from mixinmetoastees. soz.
Yet again, Crustie had difficulty with his automatic. The damned keys would not come out of the ignition until he moved the gear stick into ‘park’!! On the road again and back into Clifden for a beer and relief at last when I found the chemists still open.
Wolves 9 Leicester 1, Stoke 1 Reading 1, the less said about that the better. Crustie attempted to avoid a red lump in the road on the way back from Clifden and JC ended up with an egg on his head and currents of wind around his jacksee.
A minibus was hired for the evenings jaunt to Galway. Sadly there weren’t enough seats for Shaun or Neil who settled on the wheel arches. John ‘Travolta’ C’s weight must have ballooned as he could only fit into his white 46inch waist grease lightening trousers. For some odd reason, the Clay Pot Indian was chosen. Spike doesn’t normally get wound up these days except when his curry isn’t served on a hot plate, there were no currants or egg in his curry, and the way it was thrown onto the table!! The gas problems did not help to excuse the poor service, both inside and outside the kitchen! So he refused to pay. Why can’t they provide a simple hot fruity curry on a hot plate, its not that difficult. At least the plates had been produced in the potteries.
2 girls handed invites to Neil and Keith for a local laptop club, why?? The pubs were heaving and the quieter pubs proved more appealing. Crustie, the air conditioning doorman was at it again relieving the pub of its smoke clouds, before we moved across the road to Foxeys. Neil went on a walk looking for a phone (why? when there was one in the pub). Confirmation of the itinerary predictions almost gave Crustie a heart attack. Luckily his explicits ….’f ing w..nker etc helped him to chill. Keith began analysing the different expressions used to describe going for a pee, turning ones bike around, having a waz etc etc ?? before we caught the minibus back to the digs.
The phantom of the ivories (better known as Liberaci Spike) tickled the ivories back in the guest house.
Spike told the landlady he was going a day earlier than us to return to old Blighty. She was quite relieved and was heard to utter ‘good, at least I can get some sleep now!!’
Crusties automatic was playing up again. The parking warning light was giving him some grief. A wet start to the walk around Ballynahinch Lake disappeared giving out to a brightish afternoon. Passing the fly fishermen we lunched at the hotel. Tim ‘Bellamy’ discovered an interesting fungi in the shape of a coke bottle top. A short stop at a touristy place on return gave an opportunity to purchase pressies and cds. Sadly Roy’s ‘Derriere’ was jumping, what a bummer. London derry Air at 100db was electric.
On settling up the landlady had presumed JC was a blonde haired german boy?? Should be ok in Munich mein heiry.
Panic set in on the approach to the toll in the automatic. Crustie had given all his change to the arran lifeboat charity. Luckily we hadn’t taken his advice and sailed through!!
A short bus trip and we were back in the heart of Dublin. The crack was good in Temple Bar. Sadly the sandwiches had run out, or so they told JC, so we tripped across the road to the famous Boxtey Restaurant and washed a meal down with Revolution ale. Roy thought he’d pulled again when the waitress in the Boxtey restaurant invited him back the following day. However, she did admit to us that she would be off duty and wouldn’t be there!