Well I have had a lovely holiday travelling down the west coast of Ireland, a truly beautiful part of the world still largely unspoiled by British standards. I went with some friends who spent a large part of the holiday chasing surf; this meant I got to see miles of beautiful coastline. I didn’t do any surfing I sat on the beach with the surf whores. Why is surfing such an attractive hobby? What’s wrong with gardeners?
My favourite thing about Ireland must be its lack of rules; we were able to camp pretty much anywhere we felt like without upsetting anyone. In London you can’t do anything without upsetting someone. At one remote beach the farmer came over to our camp, all he wanted to know was how old my friends car was and if any of us were from London, I told him we were from Somerset and he happily trundled of marvelling at the age of my friends car. (19 yeas is a very long time for a car to survive on Irish roads, hence they have no old cars)
I think being wary of Londoners is a sound policy. We are all complete areseholes, it happens to you sooner or later. On the train on the way home I was caught out using an out of date railcard, I had to pay fifty quid. The jobs-worth guard, undoubtedly a Londoner, took such glee in fining me that I felt compelled to call him a fucking smug cunt and was put off at the next stop. I’m sure he was guilty as charged and probably more but I was also an arsey twat. That’s just London, everyone should have a string of expletives after their name and they frequently do.
There are empty houses all over Ireland, don’t tell any Londoners or else they will buy them and put up no camping signs.
A note to any Irish reading, if a Londoner buys a house in your area burn it down or use some left over symtex to blow it up. They won’t realise for months since they won’t be living in it, when they come looking for it why not just move the road signs round maybe they won’t be able to find it again. If they ask tell them it fell off a cliff (feel free to swear at them).