Woke up to the sound of magpies. These are not the little golden finches I have at my feeder at home, but annoying, squawking, raptors that wake you in the morning. Just as I was trying to doze off last night came the sound of the town clock- right outside our window, and I mean right outside, at midnight, 1, 2, 3, 4, ..... you get my drift. I thought it was a foreboding that we would be visited by the 3 spirits of jet lag, exhaustion, and insomnia. (Credit goes to Dimitrios who was getting a little slap happy at this point.
Mahon's Hotel, our home for the next week
We have a bookmaker's shop right across our window. No, this is not a quaint bindery of Irish literature; it's a bookie. Note the jockey weather vane on top.
And next to that is the chipper. No, it's not the tool I rent to grind yard waste, it's a fish and chips shop. I'm trying hard to learn the language. I wonder if Rosetta Stone has a course in Northern Irish?
We're off on our pilgrimage to Hugh's homestead.
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