Back to Ireland.
I was so thrilled to visit the island. In part because I had seen Daniel Radcliffe in The Cripple of Inishmaan on Broadway, and we would be going right past that island to get to the island where we were going to be staying.
I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the B&B we booked for the night before we got on the boat. It was just a place to sleep. I knew we wouldn’t have time to hang out in our room.
That was…a potentially disastrous, but now humorous decision.
Our GPS led us way out of town (we had learned to enter coordinates by then, so go us) and we arrived at this tiny house. A woman came out to greet us and started talking, and didn’t stop talking, until we ran for it twenty minutes later.
I want you to try and read this to yourself as quickly as you can in the bounciest Irish accent you can imagine.
“Oh so you’re here for the room are you? I had it down that you’d be here for the room. Only there’s a crib in the room right now. There’s a family who’ll be in the room tomorrow night, and I thought they’d need a crib. But you’re here for the room tonight, so you don’t need the crib. Would you mind helping me move the crib out of your room and into the hall? Then it won’t be in your way anymore (It was. We could barely get through the hall with the crib taking up all the space, but whatever). I suppose you’ll be going into town to hear the music tonight. The boys in our pubs play the best music, so you will be going down to hear the music now the cribs out of your way.”
It. Just. Kept. Going.
I wasn’t sure if we had just rented a room from someone with a severe anxiety disorder, someone who hadn’t seen another human in a very long time, or a serial killer.
We finally made our escape to get in the car and go to town and listen to the boys play in the pub, and I heard a strange rustling sound from a trailer in the back.
Since I was half-convinced we were staying with a serial killer, I decided to take a look so I could see if she had anyone tied up and bleeding to death in there.
Nope. No person bleeding.
Just a peacock with a face tumor. Because what inn doesn’t need a peacock with a face tumor?
Needless to say, we survived the night, and I wished the peacock all the best, but it was a close one, guys. It was a really close one.