CAN YOU NAME THIS PLACE?

Must go and kiss that stone...

No need, Francis, you are already adequately garrulous.

I would post a new place but I'm going to sleep now - in the morning I will.

Correct Clary...to the best of my knowlege

so where is it

dont say Ireland pse

The Blarney Stone is in Blarney Castle, Blarney, just outside Cork, in the south of Ireland - or I think it is, I was so lost - but got there eventually.

I kissed the Stone, and it didn't work - I still don't have the gift of the gab! I want my money back!

Oh sorry, yes, I knew that, but I will gladly give my go to Margo, Mar -go!

u go ma do

It didn't cost you anything in the first place, you silly kitty. I kissed the Blarney Stone as well, but did it for the photo to give to my grandmother, who was a native of County Cork. Certainly my gab needed no help.

I kissed it too! What a bizarre experience.

I have a fear of heights, i can tell you i did not enjoy the experience.

anyone around here apart from me not kissed the Blarney stone?

My wife was wearing plastic beach shoes...it was raining and she nearly came a cropper on the almost vertical steps inside the castle, but she was determined to complete the task, and did. I knew that she could talk before, but now we have to put her mouth in for a 50,000 word service every fortnight.

I also kissed the stone and almost got salt poisoning.

Steve, you must make a long weekend of it, if you are going to do the "Blarney" thing. Book one of the fantastic Victorian B&B's that front on to the harbour at Cobh, if I were you.

Cobh is about twenty minutes by train to Cork, but is just a wonderful place (it was the Titanic's last port of call). It has a wonderful Cemetary (if you're into history) full of Lucitania victims. It also has a Crypt that is falling apart, and if you peer in through the cracks, you can see the bones of Napoleons Surgeon (he was Irish, apparently).
Fota Park is nearby (the wierdest Zoo I've ever seen) where you can buy some grapes on the way in, and then have four or five Lemurs climbing all over you, as you dish out the fruit.

Blarney is not that far away, and we did it by bus which gives you a good chance to chat to the locals and see some countryside.
A typical B&B Irish breakfast will expand the place between your belly and backbone by about 75%, and after three or four of those, you wont need to eat for a week or so.

bloody hell

If you can hear me LordElpyou....

Thats some yearly wordage...do you get tax(ed) relief?

Steve, no tax relief, I fear. I did ask them, and they sent back a questionnaire, asking if she ever slept. I answered "yes", and they said that THAT was relief enough. I cant argue, really.

Actually been to Ireland several times. Done the ring of Kerry, Dingle. Best place was Innish boffin.

Been through Cork but never bumped into the blarney stone for some reason.

Now this is an absolutely true Irish story (would I lie, or embellish...well yes but I'm not here)

I was looking for a manufacturing jeweller in a small place near Skiberene. It was only a tiny place, and the address I had just said Main Street. I asked this lady if this particular street was Main Street. Oh yes, yes it is. Yes this is Main street, certainly is all of it, yes this is Main street all right. This went on for some time. Eventually I said thanks very much and started to walk away when she came after me and said

"both sides"

true...if my life depended on it.

...then there was the boat trip to Innish Boffin, but that will have to wait

I believe that story Steve, as very similar things happened to us while there. That is the charm of the place, really.

Innish Boffin? It sounds like a Scientist in the Brewery trade.

We were there for an Irish Wedding (a bit like an English wedding, but with illegal Poteen). The bride is a good friend of my better half, and the Bride's Father was called Paddy, by everyone including his offspring.
He was a ship's Wainwright (Master Carpenter, joiner, you name it...) and had travelled the world on all kinds of Vessels.
He sat me down on the first night and started by saying "Now, dis is a fact", at which there was a chorus of "Oh no Paddy, let the poor boy be, he's enjoying himself". He waved them away and started the first of what was to be many long, long, long, tales of the sea. He was one of the most interesting men I have ever listened to (couldnt get a word in).
I will have to make enquiries to see if he's still alive, and if so, see if he is Computer literate. I know for a fact, that Setanta would love Paddy's input to the "Drunken Sailor" thread.
Stories included (I was quite drunk at the time, so can only remember snippets):-
Halfway back from America, with no water on board whatsoever.
Monkey discovered in the hold during a trip back from Africa.
Nearly shipwrecked on at least three occasions.
A Tattoo of a Shamrock on his backside, that he doesnt remember being done (some sort of Apprentice initiation)
.....and a fight between Russian fisherman and Paddy's crewmates in Iceland, resulting in Paddy being taken to the wrong ship for medical treatment, and sobering up to find himself well on the way back to Russia.
He was docked his pay from the Irish ship owner, and had to "work" his passage from Spain (where they dropped him off) back to Cobh.

And dat, Steve me old darlin', is a fact!

American tourists are driving around the west country, hopelessly lost, when they see a man standing in a field.

Honey, look, there's a man over there . . . you should stop and ask him . . . gowan . . .

Well . . . alright, wait here . . .

So he climbs down through the muck in the ditch . . .

Oh Jeeze, look at my shoes . . .

. . . and trudges over the newly plowed field, with mud caking his now ruined shoes, over the stone fence, into the middle of the next plowed field, and then . . .

Hi . . . excuse me . . . we're sort of . . . lost . . . heh heh . . . and, uhm, i was wondering . . . could you tell me how to get to Lisdoonvarna?

No . . . i cannot . . . i don't know where Lisdoonvarna is.

Well . . . uh, thanks . . . sorry to bother you.

And back across the plowed field, over the stone wall, across the plowed field, and down through the ditch, when . . .

Honey, Honey . . . there's another man over there, and the first one is waving at you!

Oh . . . oh well . . . be right back.

And down through the ditch, over the plowed field, across the stone wall, over the plowed field . . .

Oi'd loik to intraduce me brither Michael, an' he don't know where Lisdoonvarna is nayther . . .

What I found confusing are the mile/kilometer signs

you see Boggadoon 1 1/4 miles

then Boggadoon 3 km

then Boggadoon 1 1/2 miles

finally when your in Boggadoon

City centre 1 mile.

Everything by guess work.

In Dublin the only signs I could find (and there werer lots) was for the airport...which is fine providing you don't want Athlone.

I was offered to share a glass of poteen on the boat back. But as I was driving, and the other fella looked blind....