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We spot this young lady while walking towards England along the river and she agrees to be our Page 3 Model of the week.
She wants to travel, meet people and hopes for world peace. Later we spot some more statues - the one in jeans is a
particularly convincing model of a tourist but when we get back later it has been removed. I like the dog best.
Finally we come across the Irish naval ship,
L E Roisin P51
parked up by the side of the river.
Again we set of for a walk down the river and find some grafiti artists hard at work. Apparently they are not being paid for their work but have the consent of the owner. So, that's all right then - no prison for them.
We set off for Arklow which is about 50 miles down the coast from Dublin. We expect it to be a seaside resort but it turns
out to be a small market town with a new shopping centre which has no parking and no entrance so we have to keep our
money in our pockets. Fortunately we discover a wonderful cafe tucked away up a side street from the main shopping street
called Ronald's Place, 2, Abbey Lane, Arklow Tel:0402 29006. I have soup and a ham sandwich which sounds extremely
boring but tastes exquisite.
From there we set off for Wexford which turns out to be a fishing town with lots of boats tied up, including Cecilia,
WD293A and WD186. Whatever happened to WD40? According to the papers, the cost of fuel for a fishing trip has doubled
from £6,000 to £12,000 - excellent news if you are a fish or a potato but less good if you are a fisherman.
My girlfriend is on a long term quest to seek out a pair of shoes suitable for a wedding. During this quest we battle
against umbrella destroying winds and come across a lonely swan floating down the river. Finally, she discovers the shoes
of her dreams in Primark which she believes are going to cost 16 euros. There is great rejoicing when she finally gets to
the checkout and discovers that they have been reduced to 5 euros.
On the way back we find grafiti of a man studying some coins, which seems extremely appropriate in the circumstances - look
after the euros and the 50 euro notes will look after themselves. Despite that sentiment, we celebrate by blowing all of
the savings in a cafe which has just opened near our flat.
Who ate the pies? Mind you, who cooked them all in the first place?
Later we go out and to our amazement see an old friend from Gibraltar trying to slip away quietly before we spot her - yes,
its the cruise ship
Norwegian Jade.
Quite what she's doing here in Ireland, we have no idea. Mind you, she is probably
wondering the same thing about us, "What on earth are they doing in Dublin? Maybe they like the rain?"
In the morning we go to visit somebody in a high building and looking down we spot an example of good marketing. On the way
back we spot a less good example - a confused road sign which has clearly had one too many.
Later we decide to go and see
Journey to the Center of the Earth
starring Brendan Fraser, a nice lady from Iceland called
Anita Briem
and a penknife from Switzerland just like mine. It also has the obligatory All American Brat which we will try to ignore.
On our way to the cinema we see three men who are also on their way to the centre of the earth but have only made limited
progress so far - unlike our heroes who descend 3,500 miles in a few minutes and ascend again with equal facility.
The film is in 3-D which is spectacularly good and doesn't give me a serious headache, unlike last time. Maybe my head or
the technology has improved? The story is silly but exciting. They also manage to put across the
difference between mass and weight in a scene where iron boulders are suspended in a magnetic field. So be careful - you
might learn something if you go to see it.
We decide to drive up to Dundalk which is close to the border with Northern Ireland. On the way we drive past
The Bog of the Ring
which is notable only for the name. Later, I look on Google for
The Lord of the Bogs
and sure enough, there it is. If you have an iPod this site may be worth looking at as it called IPod and ITunes:
The Missing Manual
After a while the navigator on our car has some sort of nervous breakdown and before we know it we see signs saying that the
speed limits are in miles per hour and there is a Customs Facilitation Facility, whatever that may be. From this we guess
that we are in Northern Ireland so I start doing my Reverend Ian Paisley impressions which consist mainly of saying "the
paple of Nawthun Ireland" again and again in grating tones until we have to do a rapid U-turn to escape from the horrible
noise.
On the way home we drive over a nice bridge
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