Went to Blarney Castle almost two years ago. Because I’ve got bad knees, I decided not to climb up the long spiral staircase to see the stone. Laying down and leaning way back to kiss the stone wasn’t anything I’d have been able to do without wrenching my back, so I just walked around the grounds over to Blarney House taking photos. I simply figured I didn’t need the “gift of gab” any more than I already had.
We like you just the way you are.
I went in the late 80’s and when I got to the top and saw a line of people kissing a rock by bending over backwards supported by two strong guys, I intuited that: (1) a lot of slobber was on that rock; (2) the big guys were only interested in viewing “certain features” of gorgeous young women visible from ‘upside down’; (3) the whole thing was “blarney.”
I said “forget it, lads, point me to where I can get meself some Guinness.” And they did...happily I might add.
I speak just as much as I ever did and quite eloquently too, if I can say so meself. And I drink far more Guinness, Lord save me!
Francis