I am going away for a while in the not too distant future.
I am not sure how long I am going for but it will be at least a week. If the weather is nice, I may scout around and take advantage of the fact that the Irish hospitality industry is on its knees, begging for people to say in its various hotels, guesthouses and B&Bs. Fuck it. I might even get someone to pay me to stay in their hotel.
For the first time since the smoking ban came in, I am staying in Ireland. It is fuck all to do with volcanoes in Iceland, as I never fly to holidays anyway. It has fuck all to do with the recession [except that I hope to pick up a bargain or two]. Least of all, it has fuck all to do with being patriotic. I am going where I am going simply because it is a very long time since I had a break in The West, and I feel like going this year.
There is one major problem though.
By sheer coincidence, I happen to be away for the World Cup.
Personally I find the whole idea of a gang of over-paid nancies running around a field after a plastic ball to be intensely boring. I hate soccer and everything to do with it. I appreciate the fact that some may enjoy watching it, but provided I can steer clear of it, I am happy.
There is something about the World Cup though that even normally sane people are sucked into the hype, and there is a perception that everyone must be desperate to watch all the matches.
When I go an a holiday, I like to slip down to the local for a pint or five. Hearing different accents and different points of view is all part of the experience. The problem is that during the World Cup every fucking pub, hotel and shebeen in the country feels compelled to plaster its walls with fucking wide screen plasma screens so that football is blasted at us whichever way we look. That is an aspect of the holiday that I am dreading. Am I doomed to wandering the back roads of The West looking for a hostelry that doesn’t have a television? I fear I am.
I shall, of course bring my collection of remote controls so that I can switch off any television as soon as I enter, but the trouble with remote controls is that they aren’t standard. My controls may not work.
I would like to be able to tell you that I will give daily reports on my quest, but I won’t be doing that.
I won’t be reporting on anything. You are going to have to survive without me.
But each day, when you visit this site hoping for an update that isn’t here, you can spare a thought for an Ould Fella wandering the back roads of The West of Ireland desperately looking for a pub that is football free.