Making Lemonade

Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans sang John Winston Lennon. 

A theme that could be applied as the essence of Jimbo’s tours, but definitely was relevant to moi and the man himself, Jimbo. 

This is because we had a little unexpected, extra romantic night together in a small wee town called Swinford.

Which, as you’ll find out below, has a proud history within Jimbo’s family, stretching back many generations for Jimbo’s family.  

It went like this.

We arrived at Knock early very very early. Not a typical theme that runs through Jimbo tours. 

We were tired, but felt we came, we saw, and we conquered Galway, and Westpoint (or did they conquer us?).

All looking forward to our beds at our homes. 

We dilly and we dallied, tried to cheer Shaun up who was not looking forward to a trip to the capital the next day, and shared his feelings on this matter fairly expressively. Let’s just say that when he left, we knew he would rather not go. 

Jimbo and I got on the plane to leave at 3.50pm, happy days. Until they started to say it was delayed due to biblical downpours in the Luton area. 

Not cool, but we were confident the storm would pass. 

We wait on the tarmac.

We wait some more.

And some more.

The crowd began to get restless. It’s about 7pm at this point and we’ve been stuck on the plane for about 3 hours.

We ask the crew what is happening. It was like speaking to a toddler just about to throw a tantrum. We got nowhere fast. They were useless.

Crowd became more restless.

Then we get told that the plane can fly but the pilot can’t fly the plane, as his gone over his legal limit timewise. Their solution they tell us, is to get 2 pilots from Dublin to drive over. It’s a 3 hour trip. The natives weren’t happy. 

They they said go into the terminal where an hour later, they tell us our chances of getting out that night were terminal. 

Cue mad dash to get hotels. Jimbo, salmon leaps like I’ve never seen before. Boom, books a hotel in Swinford. Not easy, there is nothing around Knock, it’s very small and miles from anywhere. Legend. 

Next challenge. Getting there.

Cue waiting outside for a cab. We got chatting and a lady said her brother could give us a lift there. Anthony, was the brother. You legend Anthony! (another theme in Ireland is how nice everyone is, this helps prove that point).

Anthony drives like Lewis Hamilton which I thought could be interesting for my delicate stomach (see Blog 3!) but we made it drame free.

Now Swinford is where Jimbo’s mum Mary grew up. So finally after we settled down having spoke to Stephen, the chattiest hotelier in the world, we thought it would be remiss of us if we didn’t head for a few guinness, when in Rome and all that. 

We walk into the bar. 

Order, and well, reflect, which I think is the most appropriate word to use here. 

We get talking to the guys behind the bar. Jimbo’s says his mother grew up here, Mary Doherty. He says, I remember her well. A little glint of joy appears in his old eyes. I say nothing. 

3 beers later, one on the house, thank you very much, we head back, praying we leave the next day.

We check out, have another interesting meal with service not too dissimilar from the Ryanair crew the previous night and on we head back to Knock for the second time.

We fly, no problem and arrive in Luton. 

An experience I wouldn’t want to have again necessarily, but when life gives you lemons, let’s make some lemonade.

Until next time, out.