I find myself at the Redcastle Hotel on the Inishowen peninsular in Donegal, sandwiched between Lough Foyle and Lough Swilly, once more at the request of a semi-errant daughter using my warm and comfortable abode for her nefarious purposes. I can hear the outraged gasps of the wet and blessed, ‘Bad Parent. Bad Parent!’
Stroove Beach. I decided to give myself a little extra to do so that I could park here. It means it’s all uphill for the first hour, but hey-ho. I am sans pain-killers and knee-supports for the first time. Risking it big, but I’ve got to wean myself off that shit. Fish waving me on – I wonder if my off-spring will get that?My old friend has been captured and is lying depressed and in a foetal curl at the fence about to be pecked by a hen he doesn’t know, nor care for. ‘Freedom!’ I hear in his tired and desperate cluck.Look what a fresh coat of paint does, Cora. Take your choice of red or yellow collars and cuffs.For the Jordora – a curious, bold faced llama.Looking back across Lough Foyle to the cliffs above Benone beach with my path down below. Just had a bit of a scare. I passed a walking group talking to a farmer and hoped that they were going the other way, No such luck. They said their goodbyes and came on apace – bloody professionals. However, after steaming past me, their damn nattering disturbing my peace, they stopped for a rest – steam pressure lost – and I had to pass them again. It is hard to explain how much the idea of leap-frogging them for the next 3 hours pissed me off. This provoked me into going much too fast, but I’m pulling away (they are hidden by the bend in the road).Landslides everywhere, it seems.I think they are far enough behind now that their noise has gone.My other mate – Cliff Edge Ram – holidays here to bulk out his fleece in the gentle force 8 winds coming off the Atlantic.I’ve reached the top. Malin head and the entrance to Lough Swilly below.And you all thought that Ballygoskin Road, Derryboye was remote and isolated.Weird witchery shit going on. Don’t want to be here at after dark.I think that the peat is slowing escaping and heading back to the bog.Rathlin Island in the distance catching the sun.Ok. Now you can see the distance. There is a couple coming up the path on the right. She turns out to be wearing a head-to-floor overcoat, a big hat and sun glasses. Worse than you for the sunlight, Cora.Portkill. It is said that St. Colmcille left Ireland for the last time from here. There is supposed to be the ruins of a little church down on the rocks below but I aint getting any closer. Why the fuck? There is a lovely beach a short distance away. It’s back to the hidden and inaccessible, I suppose. Though instead of the old women, it’s the gays. Surprised? You should have worked that out by now – all those men-only secluded and remote communities. Anyway, one day he looks at Rathlin and sees the Mull of Kintyre rising behind it and thinks, ‘Those bastards need some Christ’n.’ Poor fuckers.The local V.M. guards the spot. She either has a big sister or her ghost is preying on her.The WWII watch tower. What were they concerned about – they were neutral, the turds. As it turns out, mostly with the threat of invasion from the Brits backed by the Americans. One of the reasons the Yanks landed in N. Ireland, to provide a ready-cooked (Borisism) invasion force.Nearly there. The beach. the lighthouse, the car park, and my soon to be gone car. It has 2 days of my glorious company left.This part of the fence obviously feels that North-Atlantic chill. A special charity funded by UNICEF seeks to help using re-cycled donations from N. Ireland GAA clubs.Stroove beach and, all-in-all, it has been a lovely day. Back to the Hotel for a swim and eats.The view from outside my room down the lough towards Londonderry/Derry. My swim was lovely until a couple – obviously newly attached – came tip-toeing in from the changing rooms. The smell of her perfume nearly choked me – and that was from 15 metres away. She then stepped out of the way and I was hit with the double whammy of some horrifically potent mix of Lynx. Don’t they know that there is a climate crisis. Fuck me! The stench. It started to pervade the very waters. Had to exit the prem. Inconsiderate fuckwits. Wash that shit off before you assault old-timer swimmers like me.
