A rhetorical question...

A drive along the south coast was in order today, but we accidentally ended up in Galway. I say accidentally, as I felt I had got the vibe enough the other night, and so didn't need to venture in again when there is magnificent scenery to look at instead...

However, venture in again we did. We visited the Cathedral and admired the wonderful granite floor. We tried to walk along to the salmon weir, but it was all locked up and we met other tourists with the same (thwarted) idea.

Had another walk down the pedestrian streets - full of pubs and buskers - very good quality buskers, I might add - these lads were doing Mumford songs, so I stood and watched for a while. To be fair, this lady walking by, seemingly ignoring them, had actually given them some money.

Drove out up the N59 and stopped at a couple of wee towns for a poke about. I kept trying to find a perfect wee old pub. Preferably with a wee old man in a flat cap drinking Guinness. Didn't find one (minus the wee old man) till we came back to our very road!

There is an ancient rickety run down shop and a big building like a hall behind it, can't see in the windows, but it's always dark, and the door is always shut. Apparently it's a bar, but there's nothing to indicate this for the casual passer by. G, whose house this is, when asked about it, dismissed it as a destination, possibly because a tourist had never crossed the threshold before.

However, today we saw the door open. We went into the shop and bought a packet of biscuits and asked the shopkeeper if the bar was open.

'Sure it's a working man's bar. You won't find tea or coffee in there.'

'Has it got Guinness?' - a rhetorical question, if ever I heard one, in Ireland...

Funnily enough, it did. So we went in. It was big and dark, with lots of old photos of long dead locals enjoying the craic in the bar in the Good Times. They don't happen any more, as people are out of work and have no money to spend on enjoyment and socialising.

There was a solitary man sitting up at the bar with a pint. We sat up at the bar with him. With his lilting accent, it was hard to understand him at times, but I know I heard the f word several times as he told us about the hard times at the moment. Paraic, for it was he, has no work, hasn't had any for five years. He helped build the house we're in, and the four others round it.

The bar owner, Chris, came from the area, but had lived overseas for years. He filled us in on the devious taxes and charges that keep being imposed on an already stretched population. It's a desperate, situation, really. We felt so sorry for them as we shook hands and bid them good luck.

Came home. A bark at the door. Sammy the collie had come to visit! In fact, he came a walk with us down to the old jetty. He has a rather disconcerting habit of charging towards any car he sees, then running along beside it. Luckily there were only two cars. He's snoozing on the rug now. I could get used to having a dog around...