A holiday in hostile country, Ireland?

[George F. Jenkins]

A holiday in Ireland.
Reading the posts from a couple of Irish lads reminded me of a fishing holiday that me and my Wife enjoyed in Ireland years ago. I'd written to a fishing tackle shop in Athlone, in central Ireland, asking if a boat was available with living accommodation. I received a reply telling me that although it was not usual, a man was willing to let me use his boat for a fee of £20 for a fortnight. So me, Wife and eighteen month old baby set off to Ireland. I must have been mad when you consider that we had to take our own bedding with us, piled up on the babies push chair, which meant that we had to carry the baby. But! we were young and very green. when we arrived at the Irish port (I can't spell it) very late, we'd missed the the connecting train to Athlone and the next one was in the afternoon. We arrived at Athlone late and I found the tackle shop that I'd contacted, and asked him where I could find the man with the boat. He said "Sure I'll take you there" and he shut the shop up and walked with us to the boat. I found that they were all lovely people and easy to talk to. The owner had made us two beds and a little one for the baby. We were not allowed to sail the boat because the river Shannon is wide, and swift flowing. The first week we were moored in the middle of the river above the town, and we used a rowing boat which was attached to the big boat to go down to the town every day for shopping. we were in a butcher's shop, and I bought a very large lump of steak. the butcher weighed and said one shilling and sixpence. I was delighted but an old lady in the queue behind me said " He's robbing the poor man". (Continued)

[Jon O'Neill]

lmaooooo

[Jon O'Neill]

now i know its a joke!

[John Bosley]

Tell us more, George.

[George F. Jenkins]

The second week the boat owner took us upriver to Loch Ree, but before that he took us to a pub in Athlone. The pub was crowded and cosy with a peat fire, and the beer was straight from the barrel. My wife Olive was the only woman allowed in because she was English. No Irish women were allowed in pubs at that time. I saw the door open, and a hand poked in holding a beer mug. the publican took it, filled it up and handed it back outside the doorThe Publican was a retired engine driver on the CIE railway and as I was an engine driver, we got along fine. I mentioned that I had to buy potatoes because we cooked on the boat, and he went straight out to the garden and dug up a sackful. He wouldn't take any money.I don't normally drink, but I did like that pint of Guiness which was bought for me. As the Guiness flowed, it got merrier, but suddenly a voice shouted "fucking English". It went very quiet and I went on the attack. I said "oi! I ain't English, My Grandmother is Irish from Dublin, my Grandad is Welsh and the only English is a grandmother who would sing Irish rebel song like the Wearing of the Green which in Ireland earned the death penalty by hanging" I also learned at a very early age the song about Keven Barry. It's curious that I learn't about Irish history from my English side who had sympathy for the Irish, but nothing from my Irish side. The man who had shouted put his arm round my shoulder and said "I don't mean people like you Mr Jenkins, I mean the people who come here for the shooting and have servants to load their guns. They despise us and we remember them when they ruled us". So we all cheered up again and I gave them a rendering of the song, Keven Barry. I can't remember all of it , and it went-- "Shoot me like soldier, do not hang me like a dog, for I fought for dear old Ireland in the cause of liberty". Only a lad of eighteen summers, and there's no one can deny, as he walked to death that morning, he proudly held his head on high. Of course, the Guiness was taking it's effect on me by now.

[George F. Jenkins]

The second week the boat owner took us upriver to Loch Ree, but before that he took us to a pub in Athlone. The pub was crowded and cosy with a peat fire, and the beer was straight from the barrel. My wife Olive was the only woman allowed in because she was English. No Irish women were allowed in pubs at that time. I saw the door open, and a hand poked in holding a beer mug. the publican took it, filled it up and handed it back outside the doorThe Publican was a retired engine driver on the CIE railway and as I was an engine driver, we got along fine. I mentioned that I had to buy potatoes because we cooked on the boat, and he went straight out to the garden and dug up a sackful. He wouldn't take any money.I don't normally drink, but I did like that pint of Guiness which was bought for me. As the Guiness flowed, it got merrier, but suddenly a voice shouted "fucking English". It went very quiet and I went on the attack. I said "oi! I ain't English, My Grandmother is Irish from Dublin, my Grandad is Welsh and the only English is a grandmother who would sing Irish rebel song like the Wearing of the Green which in Ireland earned the death penalty by hanging" I also learned at a very early age the song about Keven Barry. It's curious that I learn't about Irish history from my English side who had sympathy for the Irish, but nothing from my Irish side. The man who had shouted put his arm round my shoulder and said "I don't mean people like you Mr Jenkins, I mean the people who come here for the shooting and have servants to load their guns. They despise us and we remember them when they ruled us". So we all cheered up again and I gave them a rendering of the song, Keven Barry. I can't remember all of it , and it went-- "Shoot me like soldier, do not hang me like a dog, for I fought for dear old Ireland in the cause of liberty". Only a lad of eighteen summers, and there's no one can deny, as he walked to death that morning, he proudly held his head on high. Of course, the Guiness was taking it's effect on me by now. (continued)

[Ben Hunter]

I could have gotten laid tonight but when I went to buy the girl a drink I realised that I had not taken my debit card with me, as is protocol on a Friday night (I purposefully withdraw about £20 on a Friday evening and then hide my debit card so that I don't start going loopy with money when I'm drunk). Part of me is glad because I didn't waste £100 on entertaining a girl but the other part is annoyed that I am now typing this up on C4C with nothing to show for my endeavours. In fact as soon as I realised my card was missing from my wallet I told the woman in question that I briefly needed to go somewhere, and I ran off to the toilet to shout into my clenched fists then came out and disappeared into the crowd.

[Matt Morrison]

I hope this remains a thread of nothing but awesome stories.

[James Doohan]

A good friend of mine who's quite the drunkard has gotten into many amusing scrapes in his time but this is undoubtedly my favourite incident. We had all been on the piss on a Wednesday night in the local town, as you do, when closing time had come around. Not wanting to let the night and the good craic die away, we got ourselves a monster carry out and decided to head off walking for my house. When we were about a quarter mile from my house we noticed one of the neighbours lights were still on so we decided to investigate and dandered on in, as you do round here. We all landed in the kitchen to find the house owner and another neighbour equally intoxicated. The owner of the house starting making hot poteen for us and very shortly we were all ridiculously hammered. When we set off again for my house, spirits were very high and all sorts of eejitedness seem to be happening, when passing by a field with animals in it we noticed the electric fence. Having been discussing the finer points of Jackass earlier in the pub, a dare was set to touch the fence. Before the we could even agree who was going to do it, my mate being who he is and wanting to both show off and out do anyone else, had dropped trou and had his ball sack on the fence. He was immediately knocked and took a few minutes to come round. Being as drunk as he was he suffered little pain at the time, until the next day that is. Being in agony he decided to head off to the local doctors to get a prescription for pain killers and the doctor also gave him some cream for the burn mark on the bottom of his sack. A few days had passed when he arrived at my door one afternoon asking could he stay for a few days. I of course said yes but was a little confused as to why he had left his own place. The confusion soon turned to a fit of laughter when he told that when he was in room rubbing the cream into his balls, his mother walked in and totally lost the plot. Not wanting to tell his mother the actual story, he just let her think he was having a good ol wank, which is why she threw him out.

Moral of the story - electricity and alcohol don't mix very well

[Ben Hunter]

Got into two absolutely massive arguments tonight with girls outside of clubs tonight, both times about homeless people. I was pro - giving homeless people money whereas they had semi-thought out arguments about it being 'patronising' and stuff, it was so ace I battered them and people were cheering me on, the second time round one of the girls was literally being dragged away so she didn't hit me, I got her completely sussed out and it made her uncomfortable. In the middle of one of the arguments one of the girls was saying how this homeless guy didn't earn his money, and I looked at him and saw he had suddenly cracked out a harmonica, and I said it was mint and had entertained me with his tunefulness and I gave him another quid; ultimately I don't know who was wrong or right (apart from the first argument, I was definitely right in that the girl shouldn't have just asked the guy 'why are you homeless' to his face when she had already come to the conclusion that he was in her words a twat) but the cheers from people was egging me on. I was probably being a right nob but I lolled through it all and loved every minute of the arguments.

[Charlie Reams]

I hope this remains a thread of nothing but awesome stories.

Seconded (looking good so far).

[George F. Jenkins]

We left the pub and went back to the boat, and the owner took us upriver to Loch Ree. We beached on a bank on which was a small farmhouse, and what a beautiful setting it was. We arranged to be supplied with a jug of milk every day, and it was straight from the cow and still warm. I found out why the farmhouse had a corrigated iron roof which spoilt the image a bit. Every day was a sunny day, and then a mass of black clouds would roll over and drench us. And then more sunshine and another mass of cloud rolling over. this would go on all day, and now I know why it's called the emerald Isle. The grass doesn't get a chance to die off, and I suppose the iron roof was practical considering the weather. I'd go off with the rowing boat to troll for the 40lb pike every day and was about a mile offshore when the wind came up. As the lake was about 17 miles long and 7 miles wide, it was like being in the middle of the ocean. I couldn't manage to row the boat, because of the length of it, it was a two man boat with 4 oars. Also, I had my daughter in the pushchair and because of the boat rolling in the deep troughs of the waves, she was sea sick. Finally, I got round the lee of Hare Island, and stayed there in calm water till the wind dropped. I never ventured far out after that experience. At the end of the week, I went to the farmhouse to settle the bill for the milk. I asked the little old lady how much and she looked panic stricken and wrung her hands. "Sure I don't know how much it should be". So I said "Will ten shillings be enough". "Oh no" she said, "sure that is too much". I made her take it and went back to the boat and started packing up for our return to Athlone. Then I saw the old lady approaching the boat and calling out to me. She had a squawking chicken under her arm. She said "Take this chicken with you". I assume that because I gave her more money than the milk was worth, she wanted to make it up to me. After all these years I can still see her with the squawking chicken. I then delivered my punch line, "I can't take it because I can't manage it with all our luggage. She wiped the smile off my face by wringing it's neck, saying "now you can put it in a bag". That lovely little old lady had beaten me and I spent the rest of the day plucking it. Next day the boat owner took us back to Athlone by car. Coming home and at the English Customs, I was asked if I had anything to declare, so I said nothing, except this dead chicken. They thought it hilarious when I had to tell them how I'd got it. I will now tell you how many fish I'd caught in two weeks spinnig for those 40lb pike which abounded in the Shannon and Loch Ree. Absolutely none.