Bishops and rooks

We (meaning R.) reluctantly unparked the car on Sunday morning and drove out to Jerpoint Abbey, which I was fixated on visiting based on having seen a picture of some carving or other. I think it might have been this one:

Something about the faint thin-lipped smiles attracted me. The whole place is very picturesque and is also incidentally a populous rookery. The birds seem to like all the little niches.

The cloister looked like it had been recently rototilled.

This reminds me of how much weeding is waiting for me at home. It gives me a stomachache.

From Jerpoint we (again meaning R.) drove on to Kells Priory (a different Kells from Book Of). This I had not seen pictures of, only read about, and I was infatuated the minute I saw it. It’s larger than I expected, really its own little walled town, and for at least 45 minutes there was nobody else around except some sheep.

I was so delighted I drove us back to Kilkenny without once thinking we were going to die. We celebrated not being dead at Tynan’s Bridge House Bar.

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