Its seems ages since I posted here. A holiday ago. But Im back now, and just in time to hear that this July is the wettest on record. Looks like we should change our holiday and high season back to May/June so as to avoid the Irish Monsoons. If this is climate change Im not sure I like it.
Nonetheless you cant stay indoors waiting for the sun to shine. So yesterday, myself, himself and the bro headed off to Killiney Hill for a walk. Nobody told us we would have to stumble up inclines of Everestian proportions. I got himself to push me and the bro a bit of the way. He just walked behind us with a hand firmly pressed against our backs. It really took the pressure of our poor legs.
Having reached the top of the hill we were greeted by a wonderful view of Dublin bay. What a wonderful amenity Killiney Hill Park truely is. The paths and trails wind their way from woodland to coastal scrub. Turn one way and you can enjoy the Dublin Mountains gathered in the distance, turn the other and an expanse of sea opens before you. Lovely indeed.
What goes up must come down, so we descended in the direction of Vico Road. My first impression was puzzlement regarding the whereabouts of its salubrious residents.The place was deserted. We oohed and aahed at the seafront cottages with tennis courts perched precariously on balconies above the sea, solely for show it would seem. Terraces with sweeping views of Dublin Bay, stunning, I imagine, but nobody was enjoying the scenery. Beautiful but lifeless mansions. Empty. I was disappointed. Id hoped to spot someone famous; empty too, were not one, but several derelict buildings on Vico and its environs. The bro enquired if I knew anything about how long he would have to shack up next door to Bono in order for squatters rights to apply! Unusually for me, I didnt have an answer but advised he consider moving himself in asap.
My little band of adventurers from the far away country of Clondalkin were alone for most of our walk, the one exception to our solitude being a band of spanish tourists searcing for the Hewson residence. One young one insisted on posing for a picture at every signicant gate she passed. Once they had passed we were alone again and climbing our way back up Killiney Hill but this time instead of woodland paths we were ascending the steeply stuffy backwater of Torca Road. I imagine I saw a voille curtain twitching as three cheaply clad, ciggerette toting, liberally cursing raggle taggle band of randomers passed.
Thankfully we made it at last to the carpark of the Killiney Castle Hotel and setting our SatNav for home we drove off in a generally westerly direction.
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