Bye bye Barcelona
Another remarkable building at 222 Carrer de Parrars. Goodbye Barcelona, I am heading back to the ‘Brexit’ car crash feeling more European than ever.
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In the name of love
Somewhere over the rainbow Brighton warms up for Pride 2018 this weekend.
At the bank…
at the Coffee Shop…
at the fancy new brasserie (smart casual only people)…
at the chartered accountants…
at the interior designers…
at the organic whole foods shop…
at the library…
That’s a whole weeks worth of gay propaganda in one day, which hopefully serves as atonement for missing the parade this year!
A Personal Pilgrimage
The top of Croagh Patrick has been covered in a tiny toupee of mist for most of the week, giving me a fantastic excuse not to walk up it.
Today, although it was a grey day, the summit was surprisingly clear. So I had to find a new reason.
At the foot of the mountain, I consulted with Holy Mary through the medium of sketch. When she turned into Fanny Craddock on my page, I took it as a clear sign that heading to the summit spelled doom.
I abandoned the disastrous sketch and opted to do the Murrisk loop. A lovely walk with plenty of sketching and no slippery scree.
After my run in with Mary, I went subtle on St Patrick’s face.
The views of Clew Bay are excellent. Even the sheep agree. Here’s Clare Island and the beautiful spit of Betra Beach.
Down in the village I finally got to see the Fisherman’s Memorial. Those cyclists took off pretty quickly. Must have been the way I looked at them! 
My personal pilgrimage could only end at the Sheebeen with a bottle of Westport, Mescan.
Ghost town
The track to the deserted village on Achill Island is blinding white.
The sparkling Quartzite from the former stone quarry sits in stark contrast to the pitch black of the peat brick wigwams drying in the sun.
The village itself is silent, save for the twitter of little brown bog birds and the odd ‘baa’ of the horny sheep.
Around the bend, a little way on, we are faced with bus-loads of tourists in the not-so-deserted part of of the village.
I’m all sketched out so I make my way through the huffing puffing crowds.
If you are heading this way I definitely recommend setting off from the famous ‘lost beach‘, in Dooagh. Particularly since they’ve found it again now!
Ah go on now Father!
When you go to the Burren, there are three things you have to do.
1. See megalithic tombs
2. Go to Father Ted’s house for tea and cakes.
This is the window Ted stood at to wave at the women in the brown coat. ‘I hear your a racist now Father’.
I ran across the field in front of the house whilst finishing this one, but I think the wonkiness adds to it! The tour waits for no one!
3. Go to Vaughan’s in Kilfenora for a pint. Also featured in ‘Are you right there Father Ted’. 
After all that culture, I needed a bit of nature, so finished up at the Cliffs of Moher.
Fjords and famine
Traditional watercolour landscapes are not my forte, but this stunning spot in the graveyard above Killary Harbour fjord gave me itchy aqua brushes. Sometimes you just have to try!
Beach-watching and sunburn at Lettergesh.
After being bombarded with rain drops the size of apples at Aashleagh falls, I was relieved to stand, legs akimbo and dry my trousers at the Doo Lough famine memorial.
The weather continued to race through this sobering spot where hundreds died in 1849.
The shafts on sunlight in the foreground of my sketch had almost fled by the time I’d finished.
21 today!
I finished my 21st sketchbook today with two sketches in Brighton.
First’ ‘Pen to Paper’ from the Flour Pot Bakery on Sydney Street.
Followed by Jersey Street in Hanover.
Filling a sketchbook can come with a sense of achievement, but it can also be a bit sad, filing away all those memories of the past few months.
I decided to get that difficult first page out of the way with a sketchbook trip down memory lane. The bottle of Bombay Sapphire is just for scale. Honest.
