Here we are again, with my 2023 holiday blog – which, as usual, will probably get written over the next 10 months. This year I decided (again) to visit places I’d never properly visited and thought that it was time to take in Ireland and Scotland. Clearly having a single location for a holiday is beyond my comprehension, so I decided to visit Dublin, Cork and Edinburgh. When I told my friend Chris this, he called it The Gaelic Triangle – so kudos to him for the title.

This year should have been a very different holiday. A couple of friends and I have been talking about doing a “Grand Tour” of the UK, which we were thinking about starting this year. That got shelved as I wasn’t sure what would be happening with my job (at the time, I thought I would be forced to retire in July 2023) and because they’re very busy going far afield on a variety of holidays. I then considered doing a driving holiday along the coast of Scotland. That didn’t get much past the planning stage. In September last year I booked myself onto a walking holiday with the intention of doing the Cotswold Way. Then my back went in November and took ages to recover, which meant I had to cancel that holiday and do this one instead.

Right, so back to the holiday. As usual, the base-ball cap and Age-Appropriate Hoodie are packed. Packing involved a lot of muttering and cursing. My flights this year are both with Aer Lingus who seem to have different rules depending which flight you’re on. I ended up speaking to a very helpful woman at Aer Lingus – who also did not understand what was going on. We managed to sort out the flight out, but the flight from Dublin to Edinburgh is, frankly, going to be a voyage of discovery. As with last year, my goal is to have no luggage in the hold of the plane, so that I can get out of the airport as fast as possible – whether that happens or not, only time will tell.

While packing, I have to bear in mind that both Ireland and Edinburgh have a reputation for being both cold and wet. Several people have told me to make sure I pack a waterproof jacket. Of course I don’t do anything as sensible as that!

I’m flying out of Heathrow Terminal 2. Unfortunately (and quite thoughtlessly), the friends who gave me a lift to Heathrow last year have moved out of the area. So, I am reliant on public transport. Luckily, the Elizabeth Line now goes as far as Reading. That’s good because I get free travel on Transport for London services, so I can coast to Heathrow without having to put my hand in my pocket. (Yes, I have to get my warrant card out, but you know what I mean. Don’t you?)

Slough station has now installed new barriers and an exciting one-way system …. which they probably should have put in place during Covid. They accompany this with tiny signs, and increasingly irritated staff who loudly direct people who haven’t got the hang of it. Luckily, I get away without being harangued and I head for the Elizabeth Line. I have to go to Hayes and Harlington and then change to get the train to Heathrow. As usual, I have left plenty of time – the flight is at 13:30, so I’m on the train by 10:50. I sit near the entrance and am joined by two ladies and a pram. Neither seem to know where the brake is, so when the train pulls away they both lurch for the pram as it tries to rocket away down the carriage. The child in the pram doesn’t seem to be affected by it and it is possessed of an excellent set of lungs as it demonstrates with a series of ear-splitting shrieks. The ladies try to calm it with a variety of songs – my favourite being “Trinkle, trinkle, little star”.

I try to ignore the musical score and the occasional shriek and settle down to reading my book. Today’s offering is The Nice and the Good by Iris Murdoch. An odd little book that combines a social pot-boiler with a murder mystery that seems to involve black magic. Took a little getting into as she introduced about 12 characters in one chapter, but once I’d managed to work out who everyone was this was very enjoyable.

I am somewhat distracted (not just by the baby). The train runs late and the announcements on the platform seem designed to confuse: “this train will now arrive at 11 minutes”. Despite this, the train arrives on time and I’m on the last leg to Heathrow. At the station, I decide to take the lift to cut down on the amount of time I’ll have to carry my bag – I’m still a bit worried about my back. Turns out I shouldn’t have bothered, as I then have to carry it for about three miles – including walking past another underground station!

Eventually I get to baggage and have the usual fun of trying to get my boarding pass up on my phone. The phone finally complies and I then have a spirited discussion about whether my case counts as carry on, or not. In the end, we have to refer to a supervisor who takes my side and I head for the line for security. This begins with the excitement of removing all small metallic objects and putting them in my bag, while keeping my boarding pass and passport out. I then note that we are only allowed one transparent bag for toiletries. I have two, because the toothpaste (while still being only 100ml) takes up half the bag – surely this will be OK. Apparently not, so I stuff it into one bag, whereupon the seal breaks. Juggling two bags, my phone and my passport I get through the first check and shuffle towards the security scanners. Shuffling is necessary because my belt is now in my bag and as I’ve lost a bit of weight, my jeans are sliding down. Then I realise I have to take my iPad out of my bag, so I arrive at the gate like some demented juggler. Oh, and as usual it’s really hot and I’m dripping with sweat.

The security gate doesn’t like my boots (no surprise there!), so off they come. A very nice lady tells me I can sit down to take them off, if that’s easier. I ask her if that’s because I’m so old and she blushes and says that she asks everyone because when she does it, she just falls over. I manage without doing that and head through — after having also had to remove my hankie!

Finally I’m through without my jeans actually falling down and I redistribute my belongings. I have 1 3/4 hours before take-off, so I go looking for the first beer of the holiday. Let’s see what we have here – Harrods, Timex, “Caviar House and Prunier”. What the hell? Eventually I find somewhere called The Big Smoke tucked away in a corner (presumably so it won’t upset the people at the Caviar House and Prunier) and order myself some spicy chicken wings, chips and a disappointing pint of lager. I also take the first obligatory food photo of the holiday.

I’ve noticed that I do two things when I’m on holiday that I would never normally do: (1) photograph my food; (2) cheerfully say hello to total strangers when I pass them in the street.

I head out after paying a small fortune for the disappointing meal and eagerly await my flight – which, naturally, is the only one on the board that is running late. By the time it is posted, we’ve reached the time that the gate should have closed – this journey is starting out in exactly the same way as many of the others. Finally, there is a boarding announcement – but for Premium passengers only. That doesn’t stop everyone else standing up, so I decide to join the merry throng. We then get an announcement about people with carry on luggage – but it doesn’t say what we should actually do. There is a decision to remain staunchly British (including the Australian guy in front of me) and we join the queue. As no-one shouts at us, this must have been the right choice.

As we pass through the gate, they finally decide to weigh my case (really, shouldn’t this have been done about 2 hours ago?) It’s overweight (like me), but they take pity on me and let me through. I then have an uncomfortable conversation with a women who hadn’t paid for her carry on and so has had her bag consigned to the hold. I wisely decide not to tell her how the rules have been bent for me.

I get on and stow both my luggage items in the overhead compartment because I’m sat by the Emergency Exit. I’m getting evils from the people around me. The reason for this becomes clear as the stewardess announces about 5 times that we’re only allowed to stow one item in the overhead lockers. There’s a pleasant American beside me who confirms that we’ve done the right thing. This doesn’t stop the glares from our fellow passengers – or maybe they’ve just worked out that he’s American. During the flight, he amuses himself with a seemingly endless succession of games on his iPad. I admit that he reacts better than I would when the computer uses the word UASU in his Scrabble game. (I checked, it’s an acronym used by various organisations, so the damned computer was cheating!)

Apart from the cheating computer it is an uneventful and relatively easy flight. It’s a little disconcerting when the stewardise decides to remind us about the emergency exits as we begin our descent into Dublin. Clearly she’s flown with this pilot before, as it’s one of those “three bounces and both feet stamped onto the brake” landings. However, he manages to park it in a manoeuvre last seen in the Blues Brothers and we all make it out safe.

Now all I have to do is get to the hotel. I’ve checked on Google maps and I need to get to Drumcondra. This turns out to be dead easy and I’m soon sat on a bus heading south. As we get into Drumcondra, it has all the hallmarks of a manky area – lots of boarded up shops covered with graffiti and a generally run down atmosphere. I get off with some trepidation and walk off towards my hotel. I’m quickly in a pleasant residential area and eventually get to the Maples House Hotel (http://www.mapleshousehotel.ie/). The staff are friendly – though I manage to quickly confuse them and I head up to my bizarrely shaped room. It would be easier if I had taken a photo, but I’ll try to describe it. The floorspace is approximately the width of the door and extends straight away from the door to the single window. There’s a door on the far right that leads into the bathroom and the bed is in an alcove immediately to the right of the door. It’s definitely odd, but at least it’s clean and doesn’t remind me of Barcelona.

As there is a bar and restaurant on site, I decide to stay here this evening. The bar is a trifle strange – it looks more like a working mans club than anything else. I set myself up with a pint of Rockshore lager and finally relax. I will do well here.

This feeling is improved further by a truly excellent cheeseburger and chips – it’s like the one from The Menu, but without all the pretension and death.

I then head off for an early night. Iris Murdoch gets finished and I settle down with Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Day Two

I’ll start with an apology for the delay. I really felt that this just wasn’t interesting enough until someone pointed out that this is as much for me as it is for you good people out there. On we go!

I have a good nights sleep and prepare myself with the usual fight with the shower. To my surprise, it’s simple and is both hot and strong. Dublin is starting well! Today I have a cycle tour of Dublin booked followed by a visit to the much-lauded Guinness storehouse.

I head downstairs for my first Full Irish Breakfast of the holiday. Which looks a lot like a Full English, but you get both black and white pudding!

I know you’re expecting a photo of the breakfast, but you’ll have to make do with the menu instead. But take it from me, it’s a good breakfast.

I then head off down the road to find a bus into town. My cycle tour is at 10:30, so clearly I head off with about 2 hours to go. I identify the correct bus and confidently step on with my card ready …. and the bus only takes cash. That’s not quite true – they also take something called a Leap card. Which I can’t buy on the bus. Luckily I have some coins left from my trip last year – because, of course, they don’t give change either!

On my way to South Dublin, I check up the Leap Card online. Turns out it’s dead easy to get one – if you order it in advance. As it is, there are four places in Dublin that you can buy them from. I plan to sort this out after I’ve been to Guinness.

The trip is faster than expected, so I get off the bus with an hour and a half to wait. This area is similar to Drumcondra – a bit run down and definitely not on the tourist route. As I head north towards Temple Bar, things begin to improve. There are some great shop names: the Bald Barista Cafe is my favourite. I’m somewhat disturbed by the antics of a woman walking just ahead of me. She has her mobile phone clamped to her ear and her listening is occasionally punctuated by her raising the phone to her mouth and making a noise like a shrike. Or what I would imagine a shrike sounds like. It’s sort of a high-pitched “YEEARRGHH!”. She then continues to listen. After a while she stops and starts dancing in front of a shop window. I catch the eye of a lady coming the other way who looks as surprised as I do and we both burst out laughing. I head on, leaving the shrike behind me.

I find a Tourist Information Centre – surely I can get a Leap card from them? No. But they do confirm the information that I already have. I head out and wander around Dublin Castle.

And then go down to The Liffey.

I then grab some water from a Spar that advertises itself as “the Gay Spar” (I don’t know why) and then head back to Whitefriars Place – where I’m still about 15 minutes early. The meeting place isn’t obvious and the road looks more like somewhere that druggies would hang out (the guide later confirms they have a lovely pair of addicts living next door). Despite this, I work out which shop I’m meant to go to and the rather surprised lady inside tells me I’m early. She tells me that the church at the end of the road contains the Heart of St Valentine, so I go and take a look. There’s a service going on, so I feel a bit uncomfortable about intruding, but I do spot this on the way out.

Yes, it’s a holy water urn. I slap down my roleplaying instincts which are demanding that I stock up “just in case” and head back to the shop. By now she has the bikes out and I introduced to my Mighty Steed.

I also meet my fellow tourists – a Dutch couple, a very young American and an Australian who is wearing a Gallipoli shirt. Excellent. Even more people who hate the English. Except the Dutch who are both quite mellow.

The tour is pretty good and goes to St Patricks Cathedral (see below), Marshes Library, St Stephens Park, Parliament Buildings, Docklands, the Famine Memorial and Dublin Castle.

I should also point out that the weather is insanely good! I also should point out that I didn’t take any other photos as it was a bit of a pain getting my phone out as I was cycling around. Because, and there is no surprise here, there was a problem with my bike. It was all set up nicely and as soon as we set off the seat slipped down so it felt like I was cycling around like the kid in The Shining. This wasn’t too much of a problem, until we got to a hill … luckily there was only one. Oh, and the brakes were…..vague at best.

Our tour guide was called Laura and was absolutely superb. She had to balance some quite difficult and emotive issues as she was giving us a history lesson as we cycled around. She kept apologising to me as England got blamed for an awful lot. But it didn’t bother me as I didn’t do any of it myself. We did bond over the fact that we both had MAs in English Literature and both thought Ulysses was massively over-rated. I got a fist-bump! I feel like a youth! As we cycled off towards Marshes Library I noticed she had a tattoo of a beholder on her calf so when we stopped I asked her about it. She laughed, said that she loves it when people notice it and that she is a D&D geek. I admitted the same and got another fist bump! Truly, I am one with the youth!

It is an excellent tour and I would recommend it to anyone visiting Dublin (https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/AttractionProductReview-g186605-d19440112-Cycle_Tours_in_Dublin-Dublin_County_Dublin.html). It was really informative, sensitively told and with a good deal of humour – which was needed as most of it was bloody dour.

By the time I have returned my Mighty Steed, I have about an hour and a quarter to get to the Guinness Storehouse. I wander across planning to find somewhere near there to eat – of course, there is nothing, so I head in early.

The tour starts off pretty well with someone who obviously studied at an American Cheer-leading school and we all trail off for something that I would describe as A Bit of a Disappointment. The place is packed (the above photos required a degree of patience I rarely bother with) and I felt like part of a flock of sheep merrily queuing for the abattoir. It doesn’t help that my knee is hurting and I need to sit down – I don’t find a chair for three floors by which time I will cheerfully poor Guinness over the next person to speak to me.

After I head off, it all gets even more disappointing. The best thing is this:

There is a cinema showing Guinness adverts. Great, I think, maybe they’ll have some of those old Rutger-Hauer adverts. Sadly not – all they’re doing is showing the current advert on a loop. If I was here with someone else, it would probably be better and as I wander into the tasting room I’m getting more frustrated. Then I have the entertainment of watching a group mostly comprised of Americans having their first taste of Guinness. This would be highly amusing apart from the fact that I am now reminded how bloody awful Guinness can taste. The lady relentlessly talking to us politely points out that if we get an acrid taste, we are drinking it the wrong way. No, Madam, it’s just that your product tastes like the bottom of a parrot cage.

Some friend had got a STOUTie while they were here, which is where they put a picture of you on the head of a pint of Guinness. I consider doing it and look at the queue. Add that to the fact that I’d have to drink the pint and I head on up to the Gravuty Bar for the amazing views of Dublin and my free drink.

I’m not impressed. The Dublin skyline is dominated and one side by a construction site and the rest is flat. Really flat. The bar is packed and incredibly loud and it will take an age to get served. I decide not to claim my free drink and head out. I stop at the The Store on the way out and get a bookmark.

After that complete let-down, I head across to Houston Station where I’ve been told I can buy my Leap Visitor Card. I assume that as there are only four places to buy it that it will be a large shop. Not so, and so I speak to the man in what can politely be described as a large newspaper kiosk. I have a brief conversation with him during which I have absolutely NO idea what he is saying. His accent is broad and his delivery is like a machine-gun. He stops at one point, having obviously asked a question. I guess at it and reply “3 day card”. This is, of course, a bit of a waste as I’m only here for another day and a half – if only someone had told me that you could buy a 1 day card and then top it up….or maybe that’s what he said to me.

Anyway, my labours are complete, I now have my shiny Leap card and I grab a bus back into town to get some food and a beer.. or two. Suitably fed and watered, I head back to the hotel with aching knees and I sleep the sleep of the knackered.

Day Three

I sleep pretty well, but my knee is definitely complaining this morning. Over breakfast, I decide what to go and look at today. I decide to stick to north of the Liffey today. I have a Haunted Dublin tour booked for 20:00, so it’s going to be a long day.

Adding to my uncertainty is a message warning me that my train home from Edinburgh may be affected by the planned strike. That has now been confirmed. My worries have been dealt with though as there is a train an hour later that is still running, so I’ve transferred my ticket. I’m sure that won’t come back as a problem ….

One thing I forgot to do yesterday was to get some sun screen – and I definitely caught the sun a bit. I add that to the list of things to do.

I take the bus (using my fully active Leap card) down to Parnell Square and then walk down O’Connell Street.

There are a load of statues on the way (including Parnell and O’Connell), several stately buildings (including the General Post Office) and an insane amount of busses. They are very polite though – one actually stops to let me take a photo!

What nowhere seems to mention is this:

This is the Dublin Spire. This doesn’t really show you how tall it is – the next photo has it in the background.

What surprised me was that it’s just there. It’s not marked on the tourist map I have, it’s just there. Very odd.

I go down to meet the Liffey and then head along the north bank towards the Docklands. I head past up the Custom Houses.

I then go and re-visit the uplifting but massively depressing Famine Memorial and grab the photos that I didn’t take yesterday.

Yesterday, we got told that there is a companion sculpture in Toronto, which is by the same artist but contains less figures – to represent those that died in the crossing. Here’s a picture of it that I found on the internet.

It’s not exactly a light and fluffy place to visit, so I head back along the Liffey towards the one place that I really wanted to go to in Dublin: The National Leprechaun Museum. On the way, I see evidence that Stargate is all true and the Goa’uld have visited Dublin.

(You have to really want to see it to understand this).

I traipse back across Dublin to get to the Museum – which is closed. Damn. That’s part of my plans for the day ruined. I consider taking solace in drink and start heading towards the Jameson Distillery. But the Guinness Storehouse left a bad taste in my mouth (literally!), so I need into a coffee shop of a cappuccino, some carrot cake and a re-think.

After having been suitably revivified, I decide to head over to the South Bank and walk across to St Audoens Church, which has some very weird art in its garden, and a staircase that goes nowhere.

I head past Christ Church Cathedral and find some very odd paving stones in the pavement.

I get passed by Viking Splash Tours who drive around in a DUKW and make all the passengers wear Viking helmets (complete with historically inaccurate horns). Of course, it could just be that everyone was wearing them anyway and it’s a huge coincidence … I don’t care enough to find out.

I head towards Temple Bar and having been to several places of worship, go into another one: The Beer Temple. I sample their MacIvors Cider (this is a service I’m doing for two of my friends). I also order a small plate of spicy chicken wings, resisting the temptation to go for the insanely hot ones, and also not accepting the free offer to double the size. (It’s a thing they do on Wednesday’s for no reason that I can fathom).

The MacIvors is sweet and refreshing – definitely a summer cider, which is appropriate as I’m sat in the window in the sunshine. I look on with amusement as two American youths come in with smoothies and settle down at the bar, with a clear expectation that this is OK. They are most offended when the bar manager asked them to leave – seems perfectly reasonable to me, but not to them. FAFT! (That won’t mean anything until you read the next blog entry). The spicy chicken wings are very good. Initially I think they’re not spicy enough, but it builds and by the end of the plate, my mouth is burning. I’m VERY glad I didn’t go for the double up or the insanely hot ones.

I then head out and do what I should have done yesterday – get some sun screen. Now suitably protected, I head through Dublin Castle to Marsh’s Library. This was recommended by Laura and was apparently frequented by Bram Stoker who got some of his inspiration from the mummies in the crypt (which is unfortunately not open to the public). This is the oldest library in Ireland and only costs 5 euros … which some people complain about! The people behind me refuse to pay, but ask if they can take some pictures – they are politely but firmly asked to leave.

The library is small but is a real treat for anyone who likes books. One of the books on display (The Further Discovery of Bees) was referenced in The Nice and The Good, which I was reading at the start of the holiday. I especially like the cages at the end that were used to lock scholars in with the rarer books. I approve of this and temporarily consider re-decoration options.

I then head out and randomly explore. I’m going alongside a building that is very modern and has a load of pictures on the outside.

There are about twenty of them. What place is this? An art gallery? A museum? A university building?

Nope.

It’s a police station!

By now, I’m feeling hot, sweaty, knackered and my knee is definitely remining me that I’m nearly 60, that it is used to being rested more than used and that it needs something to keep going. I decided to take the Irish solution to the problem, and head to the pub.

As I sit there, my knees and calves are killing me. I’ve got this Haunted Dublin tour later, so I decide to head back to the hotel to rest up. While I’m there, my knee really seizes up badly and it’s clear that the walking tour is a very bad idea. I’ve managed to re-connect with an old friend who lives fairly close to my hotel, so I finish the day in another pub having a convivial pint (or two), before heading back to the hotel and settling down for a really bad nights sleep.

Tomorrow, I’m off to Cork.