Our time in Ireland was coming to a close and the boy and I thought we had seen it all: sheep, daunting cliffs, some more sheep, green hills, flocks of sheep, great pubs, blue-bottomed sheep, small drunk men resembling leprechauns, pink-bottomed sheep…
But then we were recommended to head up some small mountain roads from Clifden, en route to the final stop: Achill Island, chosen due to a recommendation given to yours truly by a very drunk lady in the loo at the pub the night before. It’s better than Tripadvisor, we thought!
It was raining, but in some ways, it made it ever more scenic as the drizzle came down on the lochs and obscured the mountains and trees. We had begun the journey with rain, so we may as well finish off on that note too.
The roads were deserted and – as we took some random detours – we found we were nearly alone…or, at least we were the only humans around when we stepped out of the car…
After our stop off to play Dr Doolittles, the boy and I continued on our way through dramatic mountain paths, just in time to see the sun come out to colour the peaks pink…
But it wasn’t long before we had to hop out of the car once again – a fact which seemed to repeat itself again and again…though, we had to say, we were a bit perplexed by this sign…I saw no evidence of pie anywhere!
Even with so sign of any pie, the boy and I were pretty relaxed by our surroundings…who wouldn’t be?
We drove languidly up to Achill Island and, instead of stopping off at the first B&B we saw, continued on our way along one last seriously steep roadway…not that the sheep seemed to be aware of any immediate peril…

That sheep seems far too relaxed, given there's a 150ft drop just behind him...not that I wanted to ruin his tranquility
The tricky roadway was a fantastic way to remind us just how incredible Ireland really is…
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