All You Need Is Love

I heard the Beatles tune "Golden Slumbers" on the way to work today, the last line of which is:
And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love you make
This line reminded me of a concept that I learned in grade school that energy is not created or destroyed, it merely changes forms. I thought that love may be viewed the same way. Think of the love in the world as an energy, all-encompassing and ever-present, and that we're all using it all the time. I find this a comforting thought that however down or lonely one might feel, one can rest assured that all the love one needs is all round - just tap into it and it will take form before you. A smile-worthy thought to start the day.

In an effort to spread a little love - at least a love of entertainment - please check the links below to a few of the acts of Britain's Got Talent that I previously mentioned.

George Sampson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-gk7Cid_cM
Signature: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KA2B5X0LhMY&feature=related
Hoop La La: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siJq3rbv_a4

And one for Terry Fator, last season's winner of America's Got Talent. I find this guy's impressions just phenomenal. Look at his related videos to see the range he has.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnVDHzUAj30

Don't Want to Drive Your Beast of Burden

Andrew may have beaten me to putting up his blog for this past weekend - but because I have waited to put in my entry it will appear on top of his, and therefore be the first one people read. (Gotcha there honey, thought you had outsmarted me! Hahah! - Oh great, I broke a nail!)
Anyhoo - moving on to Saturdays event. I was hired by the event company we both work for to go to Stratford Upon Avon for one of our famous whiskey and cheese samplings. I arrived at the office to pick up my driver and vehicle at 5:30 a.m. I was just in time to watch the sun rise slowly off in the distance. My driver, Steve from Australia, arrived around 6:00 a.m. and we set about getting the vehicle - The Beastie to be precise. Now, if none of you remember, The Beastie is a converted VW van that has been transformed into a leather/fake fur lounge of sorts for the tastings. Although really cool looking it is very much like a Jimmy Choo shoe: Worth lots of money, looks great, but not that great in the 'something to get you there and back' department.
We move the Beastie over to the lauding bay to pack it up and then try to start it up again. And again. And again. Nothing - the think won't start even though we just moved it less than 10 minutes ago. So what do I do? I reach into my trusty purse and pull out my rosary (which I now always carry) and places it over the rear view mirror. The Beastie starts again and we are off.
Until we reach the gas station to fill her up.
We fill up the tank and try to start it up again but no amount of Hail Marys will work.
So I get out of the Beast to see if there is anything I can do (push it, kick it, throw a fit) and notice that there is a VERY large leak happening from the fuel tank.
PANIC!
(Really, a gas leak is not the best thing to have at a gas station - especially with petrol costing as much as it does.)
After several frantic phone calls to the garage and a pile of sand we are told that yes, there is a gas leak in the fuel tank and yes, they knew about it and no, we were't supposed to fill up the tank anymore than halfway.
Two hours later we arrive in Stratford about 2 hours early (Surprising because the Beast does not go over 55 miles per hour and we had ALOT of dirty looks on the highway.) and we walk around a bit seeing as we have 2 hours before any of the shops or museums open up which will mean customers. Stratford is just as cute as I remember it, and all the people I ran into were lovely. I invited the shopkeeps to come out and try abit of the whiskey or cheese if they got a chance and marvelled at where we were set up: directly across from Shakespeares Birth Place. Could you get a better location?
We did the tastings from roughly 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. and encountered French tourists (I was the only one of my group that understood & could speak with them), Chinese & Japanese tourists (took lots of pictures of the Beast) and some Canadians too! (I shook hands with each of them, had my photo taken with them and when asked where they were from the majority replied: B.C.)
At 5 Steve & I packed up The Beast and some of the left over cheese and headed off back to London. Not only did we get there and back on one tank of gas (and may I had many more honks and shouts at our speed!) but the rosary also stayed on the rear view mirror the entire trip.
Until we got back to London, unpacked, locked up and I was half way back to the Tube station before I remembered that it was still in the Beast!

Hassling the Hoff

As a salve for the vitriol of the last posting, I offer this charming image: David Hasselhoff singing This is the Moment on national television. I could not make this up if I wanted to. Brianne and I were witness to the finale of last year's edition of America's Got Talent on television a few nights back (that's the 2nd season, they're doing the 3rd season right now), and the Hoff - a regular judge of the competition - graced the stage with his rendition of this schmaltzy anthem from the Broadway show Jekyll & Hyde. I can only describe it as a lounge act on acid. He was oozing with insincere emotion, ridiculously flat in certain parts, incongruously faux-operatic in other parts, and using that clunky style of rubato (singing out of predictable rhythm) that is so much a hallmark of stereotypical musical pomposity. Honestly, he was hammier than Mark Hamill being roasted on a spit for Thanksgiving dinner. I have not dared to search for it on YouTube, I leave you to try at your own peril. After his interminable money-note ending, his fellow judges had to bite their tongues for all they were worth and praise him, however obliquely. The overall experience was horrificly entertaining.

Speaking of the Got Talent series, there have been some excellent acts over the course of the competitions in America and in Britain. Put these names into the YouTube search engine and take a look for your self:

Bianca Ryan - first American winner, 11-year-old with a soul-diva voice, incredible
Paul Potts - first British winner, Joe Schmoe-type with Pavarotti-like pipes
Terry Fator - second American winner, ventriloquist/impressionist/singer, amazing
Cas Haley - second American runner-up, singer/guitarist, great voice with fun songs
George Sampson - second British winner, 15-year-old breakdancer
**look for his routine to a funked-up version of Singing in the Rain, absolutely brilliant
Signature - second British runner-up, dancing pair blending Michael Jackson and Bollywood
Hoop La La - British semi-finalists doing hula-hoop tricks, hilariously campy
Eli Mattson - strong contender for America this season, Harry Connick Jr style singer/pianist

Enjoy.

HARRY POTTER OUTRAGE

Getting up on the soapbox here. Most all of you know that Brianne and I have a deep and abiding love for the world of Harry Potter, and though some of you may not share or understand it, you have always smiled along with it, and that's all we really ask and we love you for it.

I hope, therefore, you will understand my umbrage that Warner Bros. has just recently decided to push back the latest Potter movie that we have been waiting months for from November 'til July of next year! Let's not mince words: WE ARE PISSED OFF!

And we're not alone. Thousands of signatures have hit online petitions in just a few days, letter-writing campaigns and boycotts are around the corner. B and I feel that it's just disrespectful for a company to push back a release in the hope of making more summer money. The company says it's because of the writer's strike and that fewer movies have been produced for next year as a result. In the same breath they claim to love their fans. We feel severely cheated.

Just wanted to vent this bile. Thanks for receiving it, and if any other Potter fans feel betrayed, rest assured that Brianne and I intend to send some strongly worded letters to WB!

Story Showdown - Entry 1

Knowing full well that the story my darling wife will tell of her Saturday, the best I can hope for is to beat her to the punch in posting time. So here we go.

I worked an AYS gig in the west of London at a museum call the Pitzanger Manor House. It was a civil ceremony for the groom John and the blushing bride . . . Hugh. Yep, two men. Good for them, and God's blessings upon them both. (Social commentary over, moving on.)

The gathering a small drinks-and-canapes affair, a little post-ceremony nosh to facilitate photos in the museum gardens before everyone boarded a chartered coach to the dinner reception. Broad mixture of friends, family and well-wishers - men and women, gay and straight, old and young. All of them happy to be there to cheer on the happy couple.

The groom wore a striking Royal blue suit with white shoes. The "bride" (appropriate term, he was the more effeminate of the two) wore a bold Hunter green suit with silver shoes; handsome and dapper, but I couldn't help thinking of a Keebler elf with a Vegas lounge act. He was very nice, thanked all the staff for doing a great job. They managed to match the drinks glasses to their suits! Nice subtle theme.

Met some interesting people amongst the guests. One was an actress from Montreal, shared a high-five with her for being Canadian artists! The other was a scruffy-haired Anglo hippie-type wearing the classic blazer and jeans ensemble with a FEATHER in his hair! Well, I married into a Metis family, so que sera.

After the gig was finished, I helped the supply van driver navigate his way back to the catering unit. Interesting experience, trying to guide a van around London. The signage here is significantly different that what I'm used to back home, plus the "roundabout" is a common fixture here, plus I had to get used to checking the road surface to check which lane to be in because they often paint it there rather than post a sign! Made it there without major incident. Chilled out the rest of the night watching Jeff Dunham on our computer, as I'd recently downloaded his show call "Spark of Insanity." Dunham is an hilarious ventriloquist with a repertoire of about 5 wildly different puppets, including Walter the cranky old man, Peanut the manic purple creature, Jose the Jalapeno on a Stick, and by far the least PC - Achmed the Dead Terrorist. You can see his stuff on YouTube, and I heartily recommend that you check him out.

Challenges, Chuckles, and Chugging Along

The gauntlet has been thrown down. Let the competition of blog-writing commence! Fifteen rounds, bare-knuckle typing . . . only one will leave Thunderdome alive! This SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!

Okay, so that was just a little fun babbling. Imagine me with a monster truck announcer voice doing that one. I love reading my wife's writing as much as she loves reading mine, so we'll work together on this little labour love.

Okay, so THAT last line was just to make Brianne gag at the romantic treacle. The antagonism of the first paragraph is so much more interesting than benign co-operation, don't you think? Conflict breeds excitement; that's why producers actually hire psychologists to help them pick reality show contestants who will get along the least.

Anyhoo, we checked out the Science Museum yesterday. It was a brief adventure that involved two separate stops at the gift shop. No buying, just enjoying the diversity of interests and commenting that children should have fun and stimulating toys like those offered there, rather than handheld portable sensory overloaders. We got to the museum just after opening and looked at the farthest wing from the entrance. By the time we got back to the front door the place was crawling with large families and youth groups, so we decided to call it a short day and come back another time. Summer is a BIG time for these museums, and there are about eight different ones all around South Kensington Tube stop, and they're all FREE. Hoowah.

Chuckle-worthy moment - An interactive display which introduces a scientific social issue to a group of players, plays a simple game, and then asks the players to vote on this issue. Topic: Should you be able to choose the gender of your baby? The game involved catching sperm cells Pacman-style to rack up a score of boys or girls. (Don't dwell on that image, it was cartoony and not nearly as icky as it sounds in writing) We were playing the game next to a girl of about 8, and when her mother joined the display the girl announced "Mummy! The last one was all about sex and I had four babies!" We nearly yelped in laughter at the mum's "Steady on there!"

We're happy to discover that our laptop will actually play Region 2 DVDs. Now we can wind down our evenings with a nice film once in a while. We've seen Knocked Up and The Holiday, both good movies I would recommend for an evening of light entertainment.

I've taken to jogging in the mornings. There is so much early daylight in this part of the world, I wanted to take advantage of it. The trick is trying not to disturb Brianne too much when I leave at 6am. The secret: don't TRY to be quiet, otherwise she feels someone/something is sneaking around illicitly. She can just ignore regular-volume noise and go back to sleep. There's a earthen jogging trail which runs from Finsbury Park northwards, passing by our house just about a block away. Convenient and scenic.

Following up on my promo for Vintage Video, here's a link to their website:

http://www.vintagevideocanada.com/

Definitely check it out.

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet

Some people have mentioned that I haven't been doing a lot of the blogging as of recently. All for good reason: Andrew has a better memory than I do and I find his style quiet amusing for even me to read. However, seeing as it has been mentioned I will write a little of my own musings.





As per the title: Most days I go to a tiny cafe by our house that serves tea and sandwiches and which blessedly has free Wi-Fi. I then spend my morning applying to all the posted auditions on various sights and sending off emails to as many people as possible. If I arrive around ten in the morning I am guaranteed at least one and a half hours of quiet before it begins: the wailing.


Everyday for lunch the swarm of ankle bitters descend on the cafe for a near hour of turmoil. The mothers all gather around, ordering cute little lattes and virtually ignoring any distruction that their crew intail. And the screaming...


Yes, it's all very cute that your little monster can make noises, but why do you let them get louder and louder with their screaming? And when one of them starts the rest join in, attempting to out-do eachother in the lungs department. For those of you in search of birth control or trying to stay abstinate, may I recommend visiting the cafe in between 12:15 and 12:45 daily?





That's my morning.





Now for my dirty little secret.


I am addicted to olives and cheese. Being so close to so many famouse cheesemakers makes it cheap over here. And they really are delicious. So, if I have finished all my chores or come home from work wanting a snack - that is what I have. Seeing as I have tried to stop having junk food and shouldn't waste my money on alcohol, I waste it on cheese instead. it's very addictive I warn you.





I am amazed that Andrew hasn't thought of using this as an idea for a picture post, but here goes. European butts.

Horse butts.

Yes, I know it wasn't what you were expecting, but look how perfectly they stand in a straight line!

Then Andrew and I tried to determine whether this was a male or female simply by looking at it's behind. We were both wrong. It was a eunich.

Need I say more?

Well, as you can see I am not half as amusing as my husband in the writing department, but I will try to make more of an effort in the future -perhaps commenting on something more eloquent than children screaming.

Musings, Videos and Goodbyes

Brianne and I stopped by The British Museum last week. She'd popped in before and advised me that since it's free and it's always crowded, you don't have to try to see it all in one go. So we made our way through the sculpture of the Greeks, complete with friezes from the Parthenon. One made me snicker, and I feel childish for doing so, but it really did look like the centaur was kicking the Greek warrior in the groin. It really did! Don't judge me! The colossal statuary from Egypt was incredible. The Rosetta Stone had a gaggle around it to rival the Mona Lisa, gawkers and picture-snappers. What stood out from the trip was the constant illicit touching of the artifacts by the patrons! Scads of signs saying DON'T TOUCH and children and parents are still constantly "looking with their hands." Brianne called a mother and two children on it, and the mom gasped in shock and embarassment when the DON'T TOUCH sign was pointed out. I was honestly surprised at how . . . honestly surprised she was! Who goes into a history museum - and at that, one run by the British - and expect the type of hands-on experience you get in one of those toddler books with the fuzzy bunny on one page and the rough lizard on the next?

The DON'T TOUCH signs actually reminded me that we're closing in on the time of the CNE in Toronto, where Vintage Video has it's vending stall, chock full of movies and memoribilia of the '30's to '60's, and DON'T TOUCH signs as far as the eye can see! For any who don't know, Vintage Video is a store in Toronto next to Honest Ed's specializing in old movies and collectibles where Brianne has worked almost as long as she's been in T.O. Every year they have a stall at the Ex grounds in addition to their store. I've helped out a little bit the last few years at the Ex, mostly set-up and tear-down. Once in a while I'd help out during a day of sales, and I swear that I have actually witnessed a mother look directly at the DON'T TOUCH sign atop a very expensive and delicate themed cookie jar, then move the sign in order to open the jar and show it to her brood of brats. I leapt into action to ask her as politely but directly as I can PLEASE DON'T TOUCH, and then she copped me a pissy attitude and shepherded her rugrats along to "take her business elsewhere." Grrrrr. Sigh. The world would be such a nice place if it weren't for all these people. By contrast, store owner John and manager Maryse are two of the most pleasant people ever. If you ever get a chance to see their store or their stall at the Ex, go for it.

On Saturday, Brianne and I went out for one last lunch date with our pal Bryce from Nashville. We'd met and got to know him while working with AYS, spending a good deal of travel time together during the days of the Ascot. We shared a meal at an Italian restaurant near Leicester Square and remenisced on time spent in London. He's flown hack home today, and we shall miss him greatly.

Lap of Luxury

Brianne and I worked a catering gig last night for an Indian-English family home. The house was a swanky split-level number in the ritzy Knightsbridge area of town, with about three giant flat-screen TV's in various rooms, a kitchen straight out of Martha Stewart Living, and (not to seem crude but I feel it bears mentioning) a guest bathroom with both a toilet and a motion-sensing urinal, something I'd never imagined to see in a private home. The owner described it as his second home, as London brings him in from Dubai for business almost every month. Hoo-wah.

We were the only two servers at the home. I was bartender and Brianne was waitress/doorperson/Swiss Army knife. The total number of guests was about ten people including the host and hostess, a bunch of business friends meeting for drinks and canapes before heading out to dinner. Hardly a morsel of food was indulged in, the drinks were simple and few, and B and I found ourselves just standing around for most of the two hours of the soiree. In short, we did a little bit of set-up and clean-up for a party that could easily have been thrown without us, but the family could readily afford the help so they paid for us.

Highlight of the night: Host realizes that his house doesn't have the cocktail glasses he'd hoped for, so he pops out to the corner store to pick some up. The corner store: HARROD'S, the most expensive high-end department store in Christendom being used like a Dollarama!

A slightly surreal experience. It was a good job, though. Despite their obvious wealth the family was very friendly and personable, never demanding, and at the end of the night gave us both a generous tip.

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Months before our departure to England, Brianne had won an "early bird" draw through our SWAP program. The prize was a 3-day bus tour with Shamrocker Adventures (though we had to pay for ME to go with her). We chose the trip through Southern Ireland, and so it was that this past weekend we flew out to Dublin to start our Celtic sojourn.

We flew RyanAir out of Gatwick Airport on Thursday. Ryan is a dirt-cheap airline, and it shows. Clean and safe, but essentially a bus with wings and NO assigned seating. Decent for our 1-hour flight (plus the hour-and-a-half delay that they're apparently well-known for), but we wouldn't want to fly longer hauls with them. Also, Gatwick was massively disorganized from our point of view. We're used to all flight check-in desks arranged in one long line across the entrance of the terminal, a la Ottawa or Pearson. Here the desks were in hodge-podge "zones," with lines snaking around corners with no signs or demarkations. Bit of a hassle.

Brianne made me laugh so hard while we waited for the plane. I've never tasted a Red Bull, and in response she told me that "Red Bull tastes like . . . BEES."

Dublin is a nice little city, with low buildings and the river Liffy running through it. We believe our hostel might have been a convent school at one point, as there were reliefs of saints in the ceiling moulding and little nooks which looked like they once held devotional statues. The place was clean, and we had the pleasant surprise that they had a free BBQ that night. Regrettably our dorm had a snorer, but that's why one packs earplugs and nightmasks for hostels.

We met up with our bus group on Friday morning. We immediately met 2 Canadians - Kristen of Hunt Club, Toby of Dunrobin - and an American - Kelli of Tuscon. Kelli was travelling by herself, so Brianne and I pretty much adopted her. Our guide for the trip was a lovely girl named Jac (Jacqueline), with a lilting brogue and an impish grin. Throughout all the travels to follow she was a great pal and storyteller, always looking out for the group and giving us the "craic" (jolly good time.) On our way out of Dublin she pointed out the Millenium Spire (a 5-storey needle-like monument by the river to commemorate Dublin's thousandth birthday) and remarked that it is usually known by it's monikers "Rod to God," "Stilletto in the Ghetto," or the smirk-worthy "Stiffy by the Liffy."

Our first stop was a tour of one of the oldest whiskey distilleries in Europe, Locke's in Kilbeggan. It's a stone edifice nearly 300 years old with the mill-wheel out back still working. Below is one of the wooden vats used to heat the water for the distilling process. In the old days, they say, the temptation of hot water was very great, and so after quitting time the workers would often sneak into the vats for a bath.

We were given two samples of fine Irish whiskey, one that was their 40-proof finished product of Kilbeggan whiskey, and one that was pre-distilling process and clocked in at 78% alcohol. I only took the tiniest sip of the latter, and still it demonstrated whence came the inspiration for cartoon characters to blow steam out of their ears!

The next stop was Clanmacnoise, an ancient monastic settlement with some of the oldest and grandest examples of Celtic crosses around. This was where the rain caught up with us.On our way to the next destination, all the 23 passengers in the bus took turns at the guide's microphone telling a little about themselves, with encouragement to tell embarassing stories about either oneself or one's travelling partner. Hoo boy, the look on Brianne's face when she heard this . . .

Brianne told the story of how I essentially called her father Stephen Tucker a woman in front of his father while out for dinner. I related how cute B's malaprops are, and then finished with the story of why I always toast to Guiness itself when drinking Guiness - and why I'm thinking of my dad when I do so. All these stories warrent their own blog entry at a later date. Stay tuned.

By the time we stopped at Burren, the sun came out, which made the endless expanse of limestone in this national park sing with timeless grandeur.

The standing-stone structure above is the site of a burial mound. There is evidence that hundreds of these stood all through Burren.

According to Jac, the locals of this area are superstitious and truly believe in fairies. So our next stop was a "fairy ring." The little ones are said to inhabit the centre of the ring, so you mustn't cross the circle, only follow the path around clockwise.The next part of the trip took us past Gallway Bay and Lisdoonvarna, a town famous for it's annual singles mixer - which lasts the entire month of September and is attended by singles from around the world!

The next stop was a highlight of the entire trip for me and Brianne: the Cliffs of Moher. Spectacular in their own right, they resonate even stronger with us because they are also . . . THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY! Yes, this is where they shot iconic cliff footage from our favourite movie The Princess Bride! We practically squealed when Jac told us this. Below are the cliffs in all their splendour, with a special cameo by Brianne's teddy bear Toby. He made a few appearances this trip. We sometimes called him our mascot, but ususally we jokingly referred to him as "our cheap child."

After our view of the cliffs, we settled into the nearby village of Doolin for the night. The hostel was family owned and operated and was probably our favourite of the trip. Friendly owner and a great family dog in the backyard. We stopped by an old cemetary on the way to dinner. Amazing shots of crosses and landscape.

Our dinner at the local pub was authentic Irish stew and real honest-to-goodness brewed-in-Ireland Guiness. I toasted my dad and sipped . . . I swear to you, the best brew ever. It just has more heart to it than any Guiness you buy overseas. We had a grand time at the pub with a real live Celtic band in background.

Lord help me, I don't exactly know how this happened. We were chatting with our new friends about what it's like at the Tucker cottage and how the men sometimes end up in drag. Well . . .

. . . B and I hade worn similar outfits of black T/jeans, so we popped into the back and switched outfits for the amusement of our fellow travellers. I can make only these two statements in my defence: "The true essence of acting is the willingness to make an ass of yourself in public," and "If you're a real man, you can do whatever the hell you want."

We woke the next morning to an elusive double-rainbow. Irish magic.

Our bus took a ferry over the River Shannon, the longest river in the British Isles. There are actually dolphins swimming about in it, and we saw a flash of dorsal fin at one point. We stopped for a lunch of seafood chowder and oysters in the town of Dingle. We prefer our oysters from PEI. Speaking of Canadian food, I actually saw a stand in a convenience store selling Tim Horton's donuts! Hadn't the time to pick one up, and they looked like the kind we found in a convenience store in London, i.e. close but no cigar in terms of authentic taste.

Our next stop was a craggy beach called Slayhead, where a bunch of us from the bus played a great game of keep-up volleyball. A few jumped into the surf, but we Canadians are too used to frigid waters and didn't see the novelty . . . that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

After the beach we came to the Western-most point of Ireland, a cliff jutting into the ocean, to which we climbed and listened to Jac tell legends of Fionn MacCool, the sleeping giant you see below. Cliche as it is, we felt on top of the world.We stayed in Kilarney overnight, a lively town. We had a dinner heavy on starch and protein at O'Connors pub in the upstairs room, a room which later became the make-shift theatre space a local actor/storyteller to perform a one-man show about a man closing his pub for the last time. The characters were fun and the jokes were bawdy, but the two things no one in the audience will ever forget are his constant friendly and sincere reminders that the show came with a money-back guarantee (which nobody felt the need to redeem) and the way he drank Guiness. This man speed-chugged half a pint glass in 5 seconds each time for a total of 3 pints during his hour-long show! After his performance, audience members (our bus and another Shamrocker tour that was in town that night) were invited up to the front of the room for "Shenanigans," or open-mic time. Brianne and I got up and did a few verses of The Wolfe Island Ferry, an Arrogant Worms song in which you make up the verses at breakneck speed. We each improvised a verse, then handed it to our performer host, who strung together a couplet or two before finishing by downing his pint glass to raucous cheers. I then went for the ultimate in tasteful cheesiness and sang a verse of Danny Boy. I just HAD to. How could I pass up the chance to sing that song in an old-fashioned pub in Ireland? We finished the night in bar called The Grand, with a Celtic Rock band in the main room and a cavernous old-school dance club in the back. Didn't stay too long in the club - it's always a bad sign when the tunes they play don't hold an emotional resonance, they just make you think "What grade was I in when this came out?"

Our final day of the tour was highlighted with a stop at Blarney Castle. A ramshackle ruin of great character and scenery, and home of the infamous Blarney Stone. The stone is actually part of the rampart of the top-most section of the castle, and in order to kiss it - as is the ubiquitous custom - you have to lie on the floor and lean backwards and outwards while being aided by an elderly man bracing your posture. I'll admit I didn't necessarily feel the "gift of the gab" descend upon me, but it was fun nevertheless. The grounds were magical-looking, and contained an ancient tree-and-rock formation called the Witch's Kitchen, seen below, as well as the Wishing Steps, a staircase in a tunnel which must be traversed up and down backwards with your eyes closed to grant your wish.

We stopped next at the Mitchellson caves, a series of underground caverns with interesting rock formations with names like The Gingerbread House and The Eagle's Wing, as well as a coral fossil in the wall dated at 350 million years old. Brianne and I were invited to sing a few bars in the deepest cave to show off the acoustics, as the cave has held masses and concerts. Sadly, no photos were permitted.

Our final stop on the tour before heading back into Dublin was a brief photo op at the Rock of Cashel, a castle ruin which was the sight of a fairly bloody massacre of the peasants. Ah, history.

When we arrived back in Dublin, we said our goodbyes to most of our travelmates, but met up again with a few of them for one last pint. Brianne and I made a nice list of things for our guide Jac to do when she visits Canada later this year, including trying Icewine and Alexander Keith's and taking an Ottawa ghost walk. And we had a good laugh with our now good friend Kelli. After one last night in a Dublin hostel, we hopped our flight back to Blighty and our own bed in London.

It was a great trip, and a welcome break. Ireland is a beautiful country with very friendly people, and I'd recommend it to anyone. The bus tour was a great way to see a load of highlights of the country in a very short time. Get on over and check it out.