Blasket case

We left the Inch campsite in the predicted haze of rain and low cloud. We drove back to Dingle, for food shopping and a venture into the two charity shops. That produced a fine silk shirt for L, and a grotty leather belt, which Nic cunningly used to secure a rigid in-fill for our bed, so it doesn't thrash about in the back. We had a coffee and flapjack stop at a disappointing cafe, and Lesley bought a beautiful woven scarf from Elisabeth Mulcahy's weavers' shop.

Onwards, for yet another twisty circular drive, this time to Slea Head. There would have been spectacular views, if the cloud had lifted. We parked up at the Blasket Centre, an amazing building celebrating the nearby Blasket islands, inhabited by tough Irish-speaking fisher families, until 1953. 

Some of the inhabitants wrote books, in Irish, about the culture and people of Great Blasket, that made the islands famous. One writer who visited, described the purity and poetry of their Gaelic dialect. 

Many of the young people in the 1920s and 30s made their way to Springfield in the States, and there is still a great respect and tenderness for the hard lives of the original islanders. The population dived and became untenable, and the remaining residents were resettled at their request on the mainland in 1953.

After a pot of tea, we drove on to check out a campsite for tomorrow night, after our planned whale-watching trip. It's fine, and at least it has separate bathrooms for male and female. We encountered things on the way.

We found a lookout point to park up and make some toast to keep us going until our late supper in Dingle, at the pub which boasts about its Irish music. Snoozed, blogger, read, gazed.

The cloud has lifted a little but the rain has started again. When will it end? The answer is 7pm exactly as forecast by the Irish Met Office. We finished the Slea Head circular drive able to see the mountains and valleys.

We went to The Dingle Pub because it's the most famous one, had a meal and listened to a trio of guitar, fiddle and accordion. They were great except the guitarist kept singing and he was terrible ... to our ear anyway. That's L's pint, mine is out of shot.