The Kerryman (South Kerry Edition)
Drivers doing Slea Head anti-clockwise once again
SIGNS OF NORMAL LIFE ARE RETURNING QUICKLY AFTER COVID, TADHG EVANS HAS FOUND DURING HIS WEEK OFF. BUT THAT ALSO MEANS ONE OF HIS PET HATES HAS RETURNED TO THE SLEA HEAD DRIVE.
THE PROFITEROLES ARE NICE, IN FAIRNESS. I TOOK TWO INITIALLY, BUT MY SISTER HAD FORGOTTEN TO PUT THE KEY INGREDIENT – CREAM – INTO ONE OF THEM, SO I ROBBED A THIRD
Wednesday, June 10
DEAR Diary – I’d normally be facing into deadline at The Corkman at this time of week, but instead I’m sitting in a drive-through car wash.
Yes, I’m on annual leave this week, and if that weren’t freedom enough, I can drive wherever in Kerry I like. So I’ve chosen to get a car wash in Dingle. I feel like I’m living my best life again.
You’ll never know peace until you’ve used a drive-through wash. The place goes dark and you just sit there, listen to the droplets hit your car, and then the suds wash over the windscreen.
Then the big, circular brush thing – I think it’s called a brush – comes down from on high and starts to patter against the car bonnet. I might have the order wrong, but you get the idea: it’s lovely.
I plan on driving the Ring of Kerry later this week, and while many people might think it could make more sense to wash my car after a long drive, I’ve a different view. I want my car sparkling to grab South Kerry’s attention, and this car wash will help me achieve my goal AND attain inner peace in the here and now.
Sorry, I must go now. The lights in the car wash have turned green, and I’m free to leave.
Thursday, June 11
DEAR Diary – I still plan on driving the Ring of Kerry this week, but first I must return to my favourite driving route of all, one that’s even closer to home: Slea Head.
Thanks to lock-down, it’s been roughly three months since I took on this stunning roadway, but it doesn’t take me long to get reacquainted with the one thing I don’t like about this gorgeous-but-often-narrow route: non-local people driving it anti-clockwise.
It’s so annoying that I pull over at the first viewing area, take out my phone and Tweet my disgust. My Tweet gets zero likes, but I know I’m speaking for a silent majority.
I didn’t notice the iconic ‘Hold A Baby LAMB’ sign on the drive, normally one of my favourite sights on the route, up there even with the Fear Marbh (sleeping giant).
Maybe they’ve been out of action during COVID, or maybe I just missed it. Whatever the case, I hope to see the sign next time I drive Slea Head. It always makes me smile, though I’m not sure why.
Friday, June 12
DEAR Diary – It’s after three in the morning, and I’m still up, reading a book. I’ll probably be too tired to drive the Ring of Kerry later today – but there’s always the weekend.
The book, written by Sam McBride, is called ‘Burned’ and is about the cash-for-ash scandal in Northern Ireland. Basically, the scheme encouraged participants to use renewable energy, but the amount paid to applicants was significantly higher than the cost of using the fuel, so it wasn’t a matter of saving money by taking part – applicants were making money. There were no cost controls also, so the more fuel you burned, the more money you made.
What could possibly go wrong?
Quite a lot, actually. Everyone wanted to take part and, calamitously, nearly everyone was allowed to take part. The scheme was a disaster, costing Northern Ireland taxpayers a heap of money before someone spotted there might be a flaw.
It’s almost 4am before I eventually manage to put this staggering tale of clownery down. It’s an interesting story as it is, but McBride is a fine writer and sets the sorry affair alight (pun intended).
I would highly recommend. The book, not the scheme.
The weekend
DEAR Diary – My little cousins are around this weekend, and I haven’t seen them in ages due to lock-down, so it would be rude to leave and drive the Ring of Kerry now. There’s always next week.
One of them, Tegan, has turned 11, and my mother has made her a birthday cake with a difference. It’s not a cake at all, in fact. She has arranged a heap of profiteroles in a pyramidal formation and rammed a few candles into the ones near the top. It looks a bit like the Ferrero Rocher triangle from that terrible ad years back.
The profiteroles are nice, in fairness. I took two initially, but my sister had forgotten to put the key ingredient – cream – into one of them, so I robbed a third.
It was a nice end to another weekend of nonsensical stories. The protests in London were desperate, but because my priorities are all wrong, I probably took more notice of reports that the All-Ireland Championships may end just before Christmas this year. That’s well and good if Kerry win – what a festive period that would make for – but a Dublin six-in-a-row would hit hard. I’d probably be too down to do the Wren.