My zen tour of Erin

Not long ago my companion and I were on the roads of Ireland. We had no agenda. In the town of Galway we asked a man with a greyhound to suggest a place to stay overnight. He directed us to the house of a lady I shall call Mrs M.

She showed us a room and we took it.

In the evening we asked for a front door key in case we were late returning. There was in prospect an evening of famous Irish hospitality; the musical revelry and the beery jollity of the wonderful pubs we had heard so much about and which we were eager to experience.

Key? Why do you want a key? I've lived here for 50 years and never locked my house. Not so much as a handkerchief has gone missing! exclaimed Mrs M. And so we took no key.

Our walk soon brought us to a fish and chip bar where the tables and chairs spilled out onto a street full of banter and blarney and we found ourselves sitting next to a man I shall call Mr S. You know, said Mr S, when you leave Galway you should go to Kilfenora. There you will find me in the pub on Tuesday. I'll find you a place to stay.

And so it was that we arrived in Kilfenora 3 days later.

And it was in this way that we made our way around the Emerald Isle with no particular agenda in mind - merely following the next person's directions, crossing the land, from one town or village to the next - until our time in Erin was finished and sad-but-happy we left.

And in all that time, it only rained once.