The trip, though, generally speaking, went very smoothly. My new steel-statement in brown behaved beautifully, even making a friend after its first night in Kinsale, waking up to find another Stag parked right in front of it! (excuse the sad personification of an inanimate, cold object. I promise I won't do it again - apart from when I mention my boys' mother, of course...)
It was here, in Kinsale, that I had my second "meal-of-a-lifetime". (The first was after my dabbles with drugs in Portugal ten years before). Kinsale is known for having more gourmet restaurants per square foot to gallop around than anywhere else in Europe. Well, my friend and I trotted in and had a dinner to savour. Tastes, far from dulling as the meal progressed, got more intense. Each mouthful of wine, slurped from the biggest goblet glasses we'd ever seen, hit with as much intensity as the first. Each slither of beef burst flavour. The oysters were sublime. I can taste them now...
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