Guinness

After our morning breakfast, Rod insisted that we walk to the Guinness brewery. No, I’m telling the truth, it was his idea. And a fine idea it was, truth be told. Turns out, they make beer in Ireland with clean water, rejecting the prolonged and painful experiment of using horse urine, unsuccessfully championed by Budweiser. Rejecting the tired passé tradition of tonguing the Blarney Stone, Rod demonstrates the more hip gesture of pulling the ostrich testicles for good luck. No need to look for a smile, if he keeps his head in the sand, you’re doing it right. [And so long as Rod does not read this blog, I can keep my wedding band.] How time flies. They drive on the wrong side and they put “tock” before “tick.” I was nearly ticked off.We met a couple from Boston and I bet you have no idea how I found them.   They were delightful and we shared a pint of good stuff from the top floor of the old Guinness brewery. The taller one on the right (I cannot think of any other way to distinguish them…oh yeah, he’s male, duh) worked for Elizabeth Warren, knocking on doors and telling people that if they didn’t vote for Warren, he’d bust a knee. Pugilism really works—she won. And he can still walk without a limp. (I bet he still has no idea how I figured out where they were from.) 

After this we hit a museum and visited the redundantly named Christ Church Cathedral, but who needs another picture of the pregnant virgin—now that’s a moron pulling an unbelievably big oxy.

Tonight we are eating at the Bull & Castle, so I should have some disgusting pictures of Rod further carving up a slaughtered animal. Yum.