Today was just a shitton of travel. Had some nice B&B BEKFEST, walked to the bus, got on the train to Glasgow, made it to Glasgow, walked around that bitch for a bit, got some pizza, my backpack was heavy as fuq, got on a Ryanair flight to Dublin, it was okay I guess. At the airport I played a shit driving arcade game where the transmission control thing was broke, so I couldn’t get out of second gear, but luckily the game went ‘o shit it’s a dumb kid who doesn’t know what the fuck, change it to auto mid-race.’

And I still got second place.

#rekt

Ryanair, the airline company, is weird tho. I guess they make bank off adverts, that’s why their tickets are so cheap, and consequently there’s commercials for literally 25% of the flight over the sound system. The landing was rough as heq, but what can you expect from 60 dollar tickets?

We got into Dublin at like 9, border patrol had some questions, unlike what I found when I entered the UK, but it wasn’t too bad. We took a bus into town, and walked a good mile or two to the hostel cause the Googles told us to get off at the wrong stop.

Fuck you Google.

Finally we arrived in our beds at like midnight or something, and after probably waking everyone up getting into the room, promptly fell asleep.

DAY EIGHT – Castles and Dancers

Once we awoke, we found that this hostel wasn’t complete shit like Hatters, that was quite nice. Then we spent like 200 hours looking for a train station to take us to a train that took us to a castle. Malahide Castle! This old fucking castle is from like 1200 and we took a tour of it. Lots of history, and, suprise, it’s haunted. One of the ghosts is a Puck, a jester, who died from a broken heart after some chick was like “nah I don’t fuck with clowns.” Ded.

It’s also crazy ’cause the family that lived there for over 8 centuries died out a few years ago when the last descendent kicked the bucket with no heirs. The end of an era! Now the castle is like state owned or something I don’t remember.

Later that night we got dinner and a show at this restaurant where they play traditional Irish music and dance traditional Irish dances. Bekah would be proud, maybe, I dunno how authentic it was. Sounded and looked like it, at least. Some goddamn manchild sat next to me though with his wife and fuck he was obnoxious. Acting like an emotionally stunted teenager, he was. And there was some piece of shit playing the goddamn spoons along with the band like a big asshole. But the dancing was world-class, so it was aight. The next day we left Dublin for Paris, and fuck you if you wanna read about that now, I’m tired of typing this shit on my phone. Tune in next time, friends!