Sing your Song


It was this understood silence in a pub called The Kelt that made it clear that you could enjoy your beer, but you probably shouldn't say a word above a whisper. Jess, Kate + myself were told to go the The Kelt by our guide Steve, a wonderful Irish story teller. Suddenly an old Irishman of about 65 or so broke into song. He sang verses of British occupation, freedom and beer and potatoes. He stopped.

We cheered.

And repeat.

This continued for a solid 45 minutes as Jess + Kate + I watched a World Cup match on the tele above. A circle of several Irishmen and women (and children) stood in a circle with a pint of their favorite brew and sang whatever favorite song entered their brain. And it was Ireland that spoke most fiercely to me. And it's easy. The Irish are most excellent at telling their tales (true or not). While you're there, you're walking in modern history, a modern conflict of sorts.

We spent 4 days there at the beginning of our trip in the UK + it was an superb start. We ate fish + chips, met amazing people, traveled with amazing people + watched the world's game in some of the world's oldest pubs. It tugs on my heart, but from there we marched onward to the land of Scots.

Edinburgh called + so we went to Miss Clio.


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