A breath of fresh air

I did the charitable thing. 
It had to be done. 
I extracted P3dro from the Big Smoke and its simmering (and not so simmering) tensions between the YESsers and the NOzers in the impending termination-of-pregnancy referendum. 
I mean, what sort of image is the country currently projecting to unsuspecting visitors? 
All these angry people which such strong beliefs that they feel compelled to shout them in everybody's faces. 
Everybody has an opinion on the matter. Let them all vote on Friday. It's their constitutional right. Let them all vote for what they believe is right. I just wish that all the crusaders could stop all the crusading in the meantime.

Anyway, I took P3dro to the Wicklow Mountains hills for a change of scenery. Getting away from the big smoke and all that. 

A most pleasant walk it was. We managed to outpace the midges. It meant a lot of heavy panting for me. A bit like a beached walrus. That gets kicked in the nuts and forced to walk up a mountain hill.  

But then at the top, what vista! What serenity! 
Until the bollix-with-the-drone managed to put a swift end to the bucolic ideal. It sounded like giant dragonflies on steroids copulating... 

It was time to beat a hasty retreat to civilisation (38 minutes away), and the Big Smoke. 

And pints.