Spaniards & Orange men

So I’m back in soggy Ireland just in time for the end of the European cup. It’s been a good year for the Spanish,  what with their national team wining the Euro cup, Nadal winning Wimbledon, Carlos Sastre winning the Tour de  France & a bunch of them meeting me. Pity their F1 representative is such a complete muppet. Needless to say we had quite a few pre-game BBQs (Between rain showers) which involved copious amounts of sangria. Soo much fun & man did they tear it up when they won! I don’t think the Guarda are used to fans that just what to sing & dance when they win & not smash everything & everyone in sight.

Then I was off to Ulster (NOT Northern Ireland) to catch up with Matt & whanau. Straight after work on Friday I threw a mattress in the back of the van & headed off for the 7 hour drive to Portavogle. The plan was to drive for a  few hours until I got tired and then pull over for a dodgy roadside kip. Once I got into Northern Ireland thought there were MASSIVE bonfires all over the show, we are talking 20 metre high monsters.  Unfortunately I forgot to pull over & take some photos so you’ll have to take my word for it. By 2:30 I was only 30min away from Matt’s cousin’s place but I was planning a big one on Saturday & knew if I turned up then it would become an all nighter so decided it prudent to stop there.

8am the next day I dropped Matt a line & rolled into town hoping for a coffee…your ‘aving a laugh aren’t  ya? The lads were already up (or in some cases still up) & the only liquid being consumed was amber in colour. A few hours of this & it was off to the club to hydrate before the parade kicked off. It’s a pity that violence often follows these parades as the bands, marching & general pride really is impressive (Leaves any ANZAC parade I’ve been to for dust & this is in a country village not a big city) I must be honest that I didn’t know anything about the 12^th  of July & how passionate these lads are about it. Then it was back to the club to toast the band members, some impromptu pipe competitions & for me to be shapely reminded that the crew were Ulstermen NOT Irish (Not for the first time the call “I’m a kiwi I didn’t  realise” saved my skin). Unfortunately it all turned to custard when the  pot of cockles I ate disagreed with me & I crawled back to the van to curl up & assume the position.

Thanks to all the lads who made this colonial feel at home, next time I’ll lay off the seafood & maybe try the local grub.