Today, on Super Fun Day Sunday, my lovely wife and I drove up the North Coast in an attempt to waste as much gasoline as humanly possible.
We succeeded, as far as anyone in Northern Ireland can waste a tank of gas (come on, people, the country isn’t that big).
Above, is the view that greeted us as we pulled into Ballycastle earlier today. I don’t know who the couple is walking along the beach but I’m pissed off that I didn’t take another after they weren’t in the shot. The nerve! The Bastards! This is why I want to live somewhere where nobody else lives. That, and I figure the taxes might be lower in a less populated area.
I might be wrong… but the faded mountains in the background are Scotland (I have now been told by my wife that I am not wrong, it is Scotland. Wow. I’m right for once!).
(This pic also serves as proof that sometimes you can see almost 12 whole miles in this country when the weather is good.)
We didn’t do a whole lot in Ballycastle.
It was just beach and sunshine. (Dullsville if you ask me. Beach and sun? Boring.) As we were leaving, Ruth (my long-suffering wife and legally bound dish washer) mentioned that she knew of a nearby Nunnery where one of the Sisters demanded that after she died she should be buried under a slab by the front door so that anyone who entered had to walk over her (foot fetish? Desperate for a decent back massage? Who knows?). So this is where we ended up. Bonamargy Friary. (This is a clue to what’s about to happen. Ruth said a “Nunnery”. We ended up at a “Friary”.)
Yep. There was no nun under the floor- just a lot of old cemetery crap.
One of the things I admire most about living in Northern Ireland is how they mix the modern with the historic. (Here you see how they’ve blended a very, very old Friary with modern demands. Yes! It’s also a golf course–notice the red flag in the background. Hole 17!).
What fun! These historic dead people now share their lives with a bunch of slicers and hookers! And good for them.
I used to live in Boulder, Colorado where we played Frisbee in a local cemetery. It’s all good. The dead don’t know any better–and they’re taking up valuable real estate. That’s very selfish, if you ask me.
I just like this shot (above). Live with it.
Here we see a die-hard golfer looking for his balls.
Overall, it was a superb day and I’m very tired. And isn’t that what weekends are all about? My theory is you should show up to work on Monday more tired than when you left on Friday.
Work is not your life, people.