Bray Head

When I asked BS to stop in his tracks, he did right away. He is very obliging, BS. 
I caught a glimpse of monochromatic beauty and I wanted to record it. He has a very regal profile, BS. A bit like a roman emperor on a coin minted in 50 BC. Without the laurels. But with an anorak (which is a lot handier in Bray, in February, you'd freeze your bollix off just wearing a toga and laurels on the prom...) 
And we did walk the prom. It was mostly very pleasant. When I say mostly, it is no reflection on the company, which was superb from start to finish. The only bit of unpleasantness was the last 200 meters to the public toilet. Jayzus, for a second (or rather a very painful couple of minutes) I thought I wasn't going to make it. On the plus side, the relief was almost orgasmic once I did reach the said toilet without having soiled myself. They may have heard my groan of content as far as Shankill... 
BS then treated me to a very tasty savoury crepe (la savoyarde) and we then took a nice scenic walk to the most brilliant Harbour Bar. What a gem of a pub. We had a cheeky afternoon pint (Guinness for him, Herdinger Blue for me) and we even got serenaded by Coach O'Dwyer. I say we but ever the coward I swiftly left the place pretexting a Dart leaving soon and left BS in the clutches of the tennis coach (he is brilliant at tennis and coaching and darts but should never ever consider switching to a singing career). 
A great few hours in Bray. 
Actually, you can see some of it if you want. Why not join us