Roundabout

And just like that, we’re back in Rosslare!

It went quickly!

Today the grumpy Schreibermeier thought to himself: "Oida, today you're really smart and you're throwing your fat ass into the mountains of Ireland."

It also says Wicklow Mountains!

The -low at the end is to be taken very seriously, because the highest of all orgiastic summit feelings does not exceed 925m.

There are heaps of hikers, cyclists and even more bleating woolly animals, but the area itself unfortunately didn't really captivate the unworthy traveler, because it was "just" green hills and sheep that wanted to crowd in front of the cell phone lens.

The unnecessarily present person has had more than enough of this kind of stuff in front of his red-faced, always tired onlookers lately.

The road we drove on today had more and bigger bumps than the ugly fairy tale witch and the dishonourable Gaijin is finding it relatively difficult to say a word this evening without stuttering (when he was eating soup he often had the empty spoon in his nose because he was shaking so much and the noodles are still hanging in his hair)

So the crooked ways of the smelly fetid today were not the best choice.

Finally, the dishonorable Gaijin ended up where we're all going to die anyway: in a beautiful cemetery!

But this lucky find was certainly worth it, because there are some really nice images there, says the grumpy Schreibermeier.

Tomorrow we're going back on the ferry and off to Wales, let's see what else we can do there.

The lucky Irish are rid of the unnecessary people, the island has not sunk, all the hookers still have their shapely wooden legs and the leprechauns can continue to piss in their potties, because the end of the rainbow was unfortunately never in sight.