I don’t remember having enjoyed a day on the bike as much as I did today for a very long while. The sun was out, it was a ferry day, and I even got to play my ukulele in a town square. I have to say it was also tinged with sadness, because today was my last full day in lovely Ireland before I sail back to Wales in the morning. It’s been a great trip, absolutely packed full of the friendliest of people (except when the footy’s on) and beautiful scenery of course, sea swims, great weather (mostly), in fact everything I could have hoped for from such a short trip.

Stats

I still haven’t worked out what the arrangement was at my AirBnB. I booked through one person, but got contacted by someone else, who was called Greg.

When I got to the house Greg was sitting in a car outside, and got out to greet me. He was an unusual person, a big teddy bear of a guy, slow moving and slow talking but friendly and funny. All he really wanted to talk about was England losing the football. I had a few things I needed to ask about, but every time I tried he somehow got the subject back to the footy. In fact the first thing he’d said to me, after saying hello, was ‘Ah, you must broken up about losing the football, aren’t you?‘ He seemed a bit disappointed that I wasn’t showing more obvious signs of pain and grief, so kept on about it.

When we went inside the house there was an elderly woman in the kitchen, apparently also waiting for me. She was friendly enough, but almost as soon as I’d unloaded the bike she left, leaving just me and Greg. I just couldn’t work out whose house I was in. Before he left as well he poked his head round my door to check – for the third time – that I’d got the key, then disappeared very briefly before poking his smiling face back round again, hanging on the side of the door with his big mitt, to say ‘60 years of hurt, eh Ben?’

I thought I heard him moving around the house a bit later, so needing to use the kettle I went into the hallway and said ‘Is that you Greg?’ A door opened and out came someone completely different, a young lad who told me he was studying to be an electrician and had just finished his day of online classes. I never found out if he was a guest or a relative, or maybe this was his house?

This morning when I left early I called out goodbye, but the house was deserted. I was surprised to find Greg outside once again, sitting in his car. Today he was wearing a brilliant yellow Hawaiian shirt and what looked to me like baby-blue swirly-patterned swimming trunks.

‘Are you going on holiday then Greg?, I asked. ‘Never in my wildest dreams, Ben,’ he said. ‘Not a hope.’ He pointed his thumb into the back of the car, and I saw a big Deliveroo box. I asked if he did a lot of deliveries, and he said normally he did, but at the moment ‘it’s silly season. No work at all. Everyone’s in the pub, and what would you need to be delivered to a pub?’

After saying goodbye I set off into Waterford, which was all steeply downhill, taking me past several amazing wall murals, painted on the end-of-terrace sides of houses. They were the first of many I saw today, so many and so good instead of trying to squeeze a few in here I’ve decided to curate a bonus-blog-post, of just this wonderful art.

The ukulele moment came in the centre of the old town, on an empty stage for live music in a square called Spring Garden Alley. I couldn’t resist the temptation to pretend I was playing a gig in Waterford, and no-one was around, except the woman who stopped and agreed to take a picture.

Then I cycled across the county for around 20 miles, only stopping to take off layers of clothing as it started really heating up (especially on the hills!), and to board the small ferry I took a few days ago, back to Passage East. On board I parked next to the new biggest and greasiest rope of the lot, again. Stena Line would probably ask me to tie up the bike with this beauty:

I did stop once more, when an elderly woman eating an ice cream in her car wound down her window. I felt very tempted to say ‘Sure, but it’s a lovely day for an ice cream,’ but resisted. We got into a very jolly conversation about cycling and the weather, during which I realised she wasn’t alone in the car, In the seat beside her – which was wound right down almost flat, then slid as far back as it could go – was an enormous young lad in a red top eating an ice cream, lying flat out as if he was waiting to see the dentist. I hadn’t noticed him at first, despite his size, because it was so dark in the car compared to the bright sunshine outside.

‘Are you looking for somewhere to stop?’, she asked me, and I told her I heading for Wellingtonbridge, two miles away. ‘Which cafe?’, she said, so I told her the place I’d seen online. ‘Oh no, don’t bother with that. Go to the Lemon and Lime, round the back and up the hill, she does a lovely breakfast, everything you could want, and very nice coffee!’

It turned out to be the best recommendation of the week. I would never have found it on my own.

Nicola ran the place, and was a wonderful, warm host. The pretty garden at the back was such a sun trap that I eventually got too hot and had to find a shadier corner. The breakfast I ordered was so good, I could hardly believe it. I felt I’d had enough of fry-ups, so went for the ‘American Dream’ pancake plate, with loads of crispy bacon, maple syrup and covered in raspberries, blueberries and strawberries…

…and ate the lot in no time.

I managed to finish it whilst the pancakes were still hot, and thought about a funny exchange about pancakes between Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld, just shooting the breeze in an episode of Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee (a show that I love. You can tell that they were still thinking in terms of writing Seinfeld episodes together):

Jerry: ‘Don’t you think that once it cools off it loses its allure, the pancake? Don’t you think the heat is a big part of it? But heat doesn’t have any flavour, what does it do?’

Larry: ‘It warms you, Jerry!’ (Thinks) ‘Actually, that’s very Kramer-ish. “Eat Jerry, it warms you!” ‘ (they both fall about laughing).

If you’re ever in Wellingtonbridge, please make sure that you pay Lemon & Lime a visit! A brilliant place.

The afternoon took me right back across the county on quiet rural roads, in perfect weather, feeling very happy to be travelling by bike and able to stop and explore a bit whenever the mood took me.

I arrived back at IOAC Campground, dried off the tent a bit, got set up and made a cuppa, all for the last time on this trip.

The remains of the day was a combination of writing up all of this with a pizza and seven-up at the camp cafe/bar, listening to reggae in the hot afternoon sun and feeling as if I was beside a beach in the Caribbean, then the highlight: an end-of-ride Guinness and Jameson’s to celebrate another safely-completed adventure, down back at Cushens bar. I find myself thinking back over many previous occasions like this, and wondering where the time has all gone.

Cushens was deserted compared with the last time I’d been here, when everyone was watching the football. A very merry couple drinking in the beer garden greeted me warmly as I arrived, then the woman followed me into the bar. After I’d ordered she placed her own order: ‘Three bottles of Guinness to take away please,’ she said sweetly, rummaging around in her bag for her purse. ‘And a double Jaegermeister,’ she added, suddenly more serious. For some reason the barmaid did not seem happy about serving her at all. ‘That’ll be 12 euros,’ she said, making me realise just how much cheaper a takeaway bottle was than a pint at the bar. The woman put the three bottles into a canvas bag, downed the Jaegermeister in one, swore loudly as she dropped her purse, then smiled and gave everyone in the bar a wave (it was empty) and said ‘Goodbye!’. I watched her bump into every door she tried to go through, then heard the barmaid say, from the other bar: ‘I know, I know, but it’s just not worth it. I don’t want a fight, she paid and she’s gone.’

Outside, I found she’d lined up all three bottles on the table in front of herself and her friend, and they worked their way through all of them over the next ten minutes, only stopping to shout either ‘Hello!’ Or ‘Goodbye’ to each customer that passed, depending on which way they were heading.

It was Bingo night back at the campground, and the prize, unlike Bingo nights at US campgrounds, was wine, not cash (chocolates if a kid won). There were tables dotted around where mums who’d already won were making inroads into their prizes. The caller had very little in the way of patter, just saying “3 & 5, 35”, but when he did vary it a bit – “Never been kissed, sweet 16” – it sounded a bit ‘Royston Vasey’ like an episode of The League of Gentlemen. Can anyone explain “Danny La Rue, 52”?

It’s going to be an early start tomorrow to get the 8.15 ferry, so probably another early night is a good idea, we’ll see. Don’t forget to check out the Art Gallery post – click here if you haven’t already.

Signs That Are Funny