It's Summertime But I Still Miss Your Skies So Clear

Edinburgh, Scotland

UK

This, from page 11 of today's Edinburgh Metro:

Scotland was the hottest spot in Britain yesterday – almost eclipsing the country's warmest day of the year. […] Renfrewshire saw the mercury soar with a temperature of 25.4C recorded at 4pm.

Never have I witnessed such frivolous misuse of the word "soar".

I Am Everyday People

Ballintoy, Northern Ireland

UK

I've noticed something about travelling in Ireland. You don't meet any Irish people. Correction: you don't meet any young Irish people. You do, however, meet some real characters amongst the older generations...

---

Brendan ¦ Galway, County Galway

My German friend, Marlene, was making a video of her trip. A video diary of sorts. I was interviewing Brendan for the video, just talking to him about life, Guinness, Ireland, the price of Teletubbies DVDs in Dubai - just the usual stuff. As we wrapped up, Marlene asked, "Finally, do you have anything to say to Germany before we go?"

"Well," he began. "I think Germany has a LOT to answer for".

Always a good way to begin a 10-minute diatribe.

---

Billy ¦ Anascaul, County Kerry

I met Billy in a pub. He threatened to punch me in the face. Why? He said I was being a smartarse. I was. But honestly, I didn't think he could understand a word I said (I could barely understand him). I later found him asleep in a bar. I think I'm safe.

---

Des ¦ Ballintoy, County Antrim

Myself and my new Israeli friend, Guy, travelled to a small town by the name of Ballintoy.

Sitting in a pub one night, we got talking to a thickly-accented Northern Irish bloke named Desmond. He was softly spoken, and difficult to understand, but we had a drink with him. Later, he took Guy for a tour of the town (which included a visit to the world's smallest church and a visit to Des's house for a drink with his wife and kids).

Back at the pub, Des decided to share a little secret with us.

"Don't tell anyone, but, I'm a taxi driver and I'm supposed to be on a job right now, ha ha ha. But I'm drunk."

Ah, the Irish.

Next day, I consulted with Seamus, our hostellier, as to how to get to the train station to make our 9.20am train from Colraine back to Belfast. The problem was that the Irish transport system is so well integrated that the only bus running that morning got us to Colraine at 9.28am.

"Leave it to me," said Seamus. "I know a guy who's kind of an unofficial taxi driver round these parts."

What's his name? Not Des is it?

"Yeah, Des. Ah you can't stay two minutes in this town without meeting Dezzy."

Grrrreat. Anyhow, aside from the fact that he arrived 12 hours early ("Oh, 7.15 in the morning?"), the ride went smoothly, and we made it to Belfast in time for our ferry to Scotland.

When I Close My Eyes, You're Everywhere

Belfast, Northern Ireland

UK

Now, since I've been travelling, I've learnt to sleep through just about anything. Trains, loud music, too-short beds, noisy beds, people eating breakfast, people stepping on me and, of course, snoring.

I'll admit that, from time to time, I snore myself. I'm sure it can't be all that pleasant for those around me, but at the same time if I can have a fairly restful night despite the 10 people snoring (and talking and grinding teeth and whatever else) in a 15-bed dorm, then so can you.

But there comes a point when you just should not sleep in share accommodation, and should also probably seek medical and social help. And possibly a personal bodyguard.

Enter Exhibit A. A small (perhaps a little portly), softly spoken Englishman, asleep on the bed above mine. Almost immediately after everyone (six of us) have gone to bed, this guy begins to rumble, it's fairly soft and a little rhythmic even. Gently does it. Not a problem thinks I, who can sleep through anything.

And then it stops, as quickly as it started. Nice. I start to drift off.

HOLY SHIT WHAT WAS THAT? I'm disoriented as I sit bolt-upright in bed. Did a wall of the hostel collapse? Was a missile launched at the nearby police station? Did I explode?

Alas, all seems fine, so I lie back in bed. That's when I notice that the gentleman above me seems to be struggling to take a breath. When he finally does, the entire bed trembles.

This is honestly the worst snoring I have ever, ever experienced. It was inconsistent, it started and stopped. He struggled and then would all of a sudden let out a giant gasp and an enormous drum-roll of a snort. It was thunderous. It sounded like the guy was dying up there. And no amount of poking or prodding would wake him up. In fact the only thing that disturbed him seemed to he once or twice when his own snoring actually seemed to frighten him.

In the morning, after I'd had maybe three hours discontinuous sleep, he was gone.