Sunday 19th May 2024

So, the great Irish adventure.

And despite the plane not taking off until gone eleven, we had to be up at four. Which is before the sun rises and the cats hungry. But the birds were singing and there was light in the sky.

A coffee before we went, last minute check of the bags and did we have the passports. Load up the car and go.

So early, five to five, that the first ferry of the day had yet to arrive in port, so the roads were very quiet indeed. Through the town and onto the A20 to Folkestone and the motorway.

We cruised up to Maidstone, then turned off as we were picking up another Ian, one of the mods from my orchid group as he was coming along, which mean going to pick him up at his house in Wateringbury, on the edge of the Medway valley.

He was all ready, so we jammed his cases in the car, got in and set off north to join the M26 and s head west to the airport.

The M25 was even quiet, so we arrived dead on my schedule, all we had to do was find the drop off point for the car for offsite parking valet services. Our mistake was to assume that all short term parking garages for all terminals were the same design, or the same as Terminal 5.

Readers, they are not the same.

So, costing us £7.50 and another fiver, we went through the garage and out again, up to the drop off point before calling the company and them telling us to use the same up ramp to the garage but then a different barrier.

That done, we found the place, dropped the car off and made our way into the terminal. A ten minute wait let us drop our bags off, then into security where the wait was about the same.

Jools and I went to a place for breakfast, apparently run by Heston, but no slug soup for us, just breakfast and coffee.

Then a two hour wait for the gate to be announced, so I an and I sat and people watched and talked orchids.

The gate was announced, so we wandered down, were there was a cross-section of Irish life waiting to get on too, including parents, grandparents with new borns. At least three of those.

Once we were allowed on, the flight was only half full. Jools and I had three seats to ourselves, so spread out. But Ian had a whole row.

He light lasted just over an hour, touching down at Knock airport (yes, Knock), which is even more basic than Norwich was back in the day.

A short wait at immigration, and again for our cases, then through to meet Sean and Mike, who were our guides for the next four days.

At the same time, Jools and I picked up our hire car, that she would be driving while I joined the others on the tour.

This I did straight away as we were heading for the first site just outside Sligo, a large and ancient hill, with green around its feet, but its head bare rock.

We parked on a lane, then walked up through a gate, up through a meadow to the start of the real climb. Made all the harder by the footprints of hundreds of cattle caught in now partially dry mud, making every step and adventure into the unknown.

My knee was complaining, so I let the others go up to find the two tiny orchid spikes up among the scree. What they found was one blind plant and one already gone to seed. No worries, there would be other places, but while I waited I kept an eye on the last round of Prem games and the spectacular view over the loch to the mountains behind.

We walked back down to the cars, then drove into Sligo to the hotel, where we we were dropped off, and I went up to meet up with Jools in our modern room overlooking the river.

We ate in the hotel that evening, in the crowded and noisy bar, though we did insist they move us to a quiet corner away from the loudspeakers that had gone from blaring out interviews from Anfield to playing 80s cheesy pop.

We ate well, and the Guinness flowed for those who liked the black stuff.