It is a question I first heard in Ireland. Our host, while introducing us to an assortment of Irish flavors asked, “Without looking at that sign over there, tell me, is whiskey spelled with an ‘e’ or without one?”
Poised and proud, the Duke of Wellington sat astride horseback. Behind him, an impressive edifice, a monument to the arts. Completing the tableau, his bonnet; a hat, a peaked tam-o’-shanter, a crown awarded by his Scottish hosts.
Did this title give you a sinking feeling? Not to worry, plenty of good things to come…
Finn McCool, a giant among Irishmen, never bested in a fight, thought himself invincible. Then he saw the Scottish giant Benandonner charging down the causeway with blood in his eye, and he shivered in fear.
There is a town in Northern Ireland that has an identity crisis. It doesn’t know whether to call itself Derry or Londonderry. But why?
Does this picture give you a sort of fuzzy deja vu?
The chill wind blew in off the North Sea, pushing in clouds and rain showers, and most tourists off the beach. Their loss, the skies were full of drama.
Clip, clop, clip, clop. The horse’s hooves beat a rhythm on the road, swaying the cart from side to side as we bounced along the ruts of the muddy road. On one side of the road, a brook meandered along, on the other, a red deer. And this was just part of the day’s jaunting around.
Hanging upside down and backward, 90 feet of open air beneath my head, I wondered how I would get out of this one.
At first cut, the idea of combining fine leaded glass crystal and Vikings doesn’t make a lot of sense. What good is a Viking with a glass jaw?