Some time ago, I spent a few blissful weeks one summer in Drumcliff, County Sligo, Republic of Ireland. Ahhhhh......... the wonderfully halcyon days of one's misspent youth. Innit?
On one particular warm and dewy night, while meandering about in a drunken haze after imbibing too many "Marmite Shots" enwrought with whiskey - not whisky - at my local, I happened upon the restful graveyard of St. Columba's.
Memories of my recent tryst in the loo with a "mad, bad and dangerous to know" Republican rapscallion raced through my veins and mind. Feeling a bit flushed, I took off my clothing and lay upon a nearby bed of cool, river-washed pebbles and fell fast asleep.
Upon awakening hours later, in the shadow of a grey monolith, I found myself surrounded by a group of Yankee tourists staring in pity upon my nubile yet gravelly form.
"Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death,
On pebbled Flesh.
Horseman, pass by!"
Is all I said.
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