Road Trip

I didn't get a chance to blog before Ziggy, Mel and I headed on our roadtrip. We are back now and an awesome time was had by all. We started off on Saturday night by sleeping in the treehouse. It was dark when we arrived but we had a cosy fire and a few drinks to warm us. We settled down for the night, blew out the candles, switched off the lights and it suddenly occurred to me that it was actually roasting. I looked at the pot bellied stove and said to Mel "Is it just me or is that fire so hot the stove's actually glowing red?" Mel concurred, it was glowing red. I opened the windows and kept checking Ziggy's head to make sure it was cooling down. I didn't want to start the roadtrip with a dog that had been fried during the night.

We woke in the morning, lit another fire while we had coffee and then bundled ourselevs into the car where we made our way to Connemara. There was much fun and excitement on the drive down. Ziggy had no idea what lay ahead of him. I had no idea that Actons Eco Campsite would be so nice and peaceful and picturesque. We arrived in the evening and pitched our tent. That was our home for the next two days and a lovely home it was too. One sad thing did happen here but, really, it wasn't that sad at all. I had bought Ziggy a brand new orange ball and we were playing with it on the beach. I threw it into the sea in the hope that Ziggy would bravely retrieve it. He didn't. I kept trying to encourage him as I watched the orange ball floating off in the direction of America. It was only sad for me however, Ziggy didn't give a hoot (which was just as well as we ended up stepping into unkown territory that completely forbade "hooting"). I consoled myself with the belief that the ball would float to America and a little Jack Russell type pup with a 'kerchief around it's neck would find it and be so very proud.

As we were leaving Connemara we stopped off to take some photos of a very oppressive looking Church type building. Mel noticed a dog running down the road chasing a car. We thought perhaps the dog was crazed, rabid even, and then it disappeared. We spotted it in the car it had been chasing. I think it didn't take kindly to being left behind and had proceeded to chase it's owners.

We were a little disorganised in Sligo (although that was kind of the plan-to have no plan) and we ended up staying at a campsite on the beach. It was ok. We couldn't have a proper campfire and there was absolutely no shelter from the sea spray. We'd also put the tent up rather haphazardly and so poor Mel woke up with wet tent flapping around her head. We left quickly and made our way to Fanad in Donegal.

Fanad was pure bliss. We had a caravan to make a proper dinner and we had foraged plenty of wood for a decent beach fire. We sat on a blanket drinking, playing geetar and looking up at the night sky where the stars were so bright and magnificent. My soul felt completely at peace. Ziggy roamed the beach and paddled in the water. Mel and I discussed matters of importance and matters of complete shite. The next day we went to Ards Forest park and forgaed for more wood. I stopped off at an old disused bakery and took photos of creepy things. We spent another night on the beach star gazing and playing music.

Then it was time to come home. We made up a comfy bed for Ziggy in the back seat as we knew he'd be so tired. He was. We stopped at Every Woods and had a poke about. We stopped in with Mum and Bert to tell them all about our adventure. Bert particularly liked the 'no hooting' story. We were driving around Sligo looking for somewhere to pitch the tent and we saw a sign that said "No hooting". We both thought it rather odd. Mel thought it meant 'no looting' and I thought it meant no hooting your horn but it didn't really sit right with me. Then we came upon another sign that said "No Shooting" and Mel exclaimed "Awww, we definitely can't camp here, we can't do anything here, no hooting, no shooting!" I pointed out that it was very likely that the no hooting sign was a no shooting sign without the S. We decided against camping there anyway.

I've included a picture of our adventures. It doesn't include everything but it does show why it is so important for me to find someone to illustrate my stories. The midgies at Connemara National Park were not kind to us. The bigger dog is the crazy, rabid running dog and the small dog is the 'kerchiefed Jack Russell waiting in America for his orange ball.