Traveling to Ireland

I have decided that my long boring blog posts that I don't publish because...well, because they are long and boring, might actually work as small snapshots - so here is one.

I had a job in Westport, a very small town on the Northwest coast of Ireland. In order to get there in time to teach on Tuesday, I had to leave Montenegro on Friday and fly to Rome. I spent Friday and Saturday night there, and then flew to Dublin Sunday morning, had a layover for 7 hours, then flew to West Knock Airport. The plane was delayed so I struck up a conversation with an older woman from Castlebar who had been to Dublin on a shopping trip. When she found out that I have no children she said (you have to imagine this in rapid fire sequence with a heavy Irish accent):

"Good for you, then. They’re all cheeky little devil’s spawn now a days, you know. Take my nephew, he is one cheeky bastard, that one is. I keep tellin’ me sister to give him what for, but she goes and bails him out of whatever he’s into. The guards stopped him for crossing the solid line. You don’t cross the solid line, you know, you just don’t, it’s how people are getting killed, it is, crossing the solid line. You’re suppose’ to be respectful of the guards and all, and do you know what the cheeky bastard said to the guard? The guard, he asked him why did you cross the solid line then? And he says, Whell, I was just wharmin me wheels, I was! Wharmin his wheels he says, the cheeky bastard! Can you believe it? The guard says to him why did you cross the line, and the cheeky bastard that he is….” She went on repeating herself like that for about five minutes. I love Ireland.