All Quiet on Inishmore

The habits, clerical collars, Aran jumpers, sweater vests and gray wigs have been stowed; the Ted Festers have fecked off back to the mainland. I watched them yesterday morning from a restaurant window as they trooped down to the pier, knapsacks slung over their shoulders. The ferry broke through the clear blue water, unsettling the thick clouds of fish, and slán to Ted Fest 2010. 

Now it’s just me, the islanders, a few other visitors, and the beasts. 

Arse. 

 

What are ye looking at, hah?

Moo.

Glub glub. 

Yep. Just us and the beasts. 

 

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