Just back from our holidays in Connemara, west of the west in Poll Ríomhach (literally "back arse"). Lots of slow breakfasts, brunches, late lunches and early dinners, late nights and lie-ins for the ladies, mermalades, indoor shots, running shots, wet walks, cropped heads at the beach shots, frantic adults and kids colouring in, fish suppers, microwaving fish, open fires, spectacular sunsets, hot chocolates and marshmallows, outdoor shots in colourful raingear, lots of sunsets but little sunshine, doughy bagles, taking the week to read the Sunday papers, hangsang-idges, birdwatching, washing up, visitors (including Connemara ponies, cattle and grandparents), princess plasters, candle burning, phonecalls from up the stones, seaweed and sand throwing competitions, clipclop in our flipflops, reading, watersports (strictly spectators), car compilations in the kitchen, Elmo Lost/Found/Lost, Stripey Tops, weather watching, Magic shows with disfigured Doras, unrequited quests for crisps in Cashel, sneaky snacks in
Steam Café Clifden, misty rain between your teeth, cheesecake breaks, rows over plastic, have you got Mr Green? 5,6 pick up sticks, Bentley the parrot, pots of jelly at sunset, hefty limes, bricked blackberries, Muppet shows, paddling excursions turning bad, birthday breakfasts, human skimming swingball, epic adventures of Daisy and Blackie. When the sun shines in Connemara there's no better place to be in all the world.
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