Sligo Finn.

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At the end of the month we’re off to Sligo for a few days to avoid the wretchedness called Halloween. I love Sligo and I especially like Lissadell, just north of the town. I can spend hours there, swimming in the early morning at a little cove then futtering along the beach in the afternoon among oystercatchers and sandpipers before going back to the cottage for dinner. But the best bit for me is Saturday night at Lafferty’s. The locals bring their fiddles and whatnot and a grand time is had by all. If we’re lucky young Finn will be behind the bar and he’s one to watch. He can be a bit suspicious of strangers when they go up to the bar to order a drink, always afraid that a customer might reach over the bar and put his hand in the till when he’s busy pouring drinks. So what Finn does, and I’ve seen him do it a few times, is that he grabs hold of his ears and pulls his head off his shoulders and sets it on the counter so that he can keep an eye on things. His head with its big goofy grin talks away to the customers, staring them in the eye, while his body danders about behind the bar pouring drinks. First time I saw him do it I choked on my Guinness and he had to pour me another, but he didn’t charge me for it because he realised I was a stranger and had never seen the likes of it before.