“Damn you Dingle.”
I’ve become pretty accustom to muttering this sentence as I chug out of Dingle town, usually late on a Sunday evening, with a dull thud in my head, a sizable hole in my wallet, and a thousand new memories to leaf through on the journey home.
Floating through the town #colours
There’s something special about Dingle town.
What it is, I’ve no idea – all I do know, is that it keeps reeling me back in, time and time again.
Murphy’s Ice Cream #AllTheCalories
Inside Dick Macs Pub
A pint of cream
The one thing I do know is that every 4 or 5 months, I’ll be pointing the car in the direction of deepest, darkest Kerry, and embarking upon the 10 hour round journey all over again.