Foxes Have a Hole

Sorry to those who got the impression that I didn't last past the first night. I am just now getting moved into my housing after a crazy week. My kind flute playing host father from last year dragged me along with his band of merry musicians to sessions from Cork to Killkenny. But now I'm home, and home is here:

It's a suite style housing thing and I'm sharing with one french nurse and a family of four from Manchester.
For those of you who are intrigued and wish to know more, check out www.carraigbarre.com. For those who don't care the tour ends here. I do have a couple of interesting little pictures to show. First is my new church, St. Fin's


Also, the other day I had that experience that we all have in our lives. I was walking down the city street and saw a line of kids staring at a closed store. I glanced to see what they were staring at, and lo and behold, it was burning. The fireman thought so too because they came quickly and smashed the glass. I had a choice between going about my business or looking completely stupid and taking a picture:


The IRA just turned in all of its guns. The banjo player from the band however, is teaching his sons how to beat back the brits. As if that takes training...



Ok, so I live one minutes walk from where they make all of the Beamish in the country. Pretty impressive. However, on my daily stroll (as in I took a stroll once) I found something odd. See if you can tell...



That's right friends, it would seem as if Foster's is really Australian for hijacking loads of Irish Stout.

Alright folks, until next post...