"
Ah, well now boys! I can see by your attire that you’re here for the fishing.” The landlord of O’Malley’s pub greeted us gleefully. “But, I have to tell you that you are too late! There were some Welsh men on the lake today and they have fished it dry. If I were you, I would just stay here and drink.” And so we did, at least for many evenings to come. It had been a softly dappled morning in mid May as we four bleary- eyed young men had stowed our gear and hangovers aboard a battered ex-Army Land Rover and rattled our way north from London towards the Holyhead Ferry to Dublin, Ireland. Many bone crunching hours later we arrived at our picturesque cottage in Cornamona, County Galway and clambered painfully out to investigate our new surroundings. The first difficult question of the day immediately confronted us.
“New pub or old?” The new pub Macs was a mere 50 feet away and the old one, O’Malley’s, more than a hundred yards down the street. After what seemed like a week cramped aboard the Land Rover, we voted for the old pub - just to stretch our legs. It was the right decision. Besides our eloquent proprietor, there was a pike on the wall about four and a half foot long that weighed 54 pounds, about half the record for the lake. It was here that I tasted my first proper pint of Guinness. I should point out that Guinness in Ireland tastes completely different from anywhere else in the world. Some say it is the water, but it seems to me to be thicker, creamier and slightly more bitter. Then when quaffed, it leaves a brown residue clinging to the edge of the glass like a nicotine stain, and not a clear glass like in London or Paris. CONTINUED
106 Rare Luxury Living
Powered by FlippingBook