Ireland is green… and grey and brown, but mostly green. Unless you’ve spent a winter here you’ll not really understand the true nature of Irish rain. The drenching consequences reach beyond green and seep deep into the Irish psyche. First off, the green is followed by certain unusual grey which I’ve never encountered anywhere else. You might first notice it in the churches, which appear to be built of concrete. It’s what O’Ceausescu would’ve wanted, the great Irish dictator. Grey, monolithic concrete churches. It’s a rare thing to stumble across the ruins of a medieval church down an old lane; built from cut stone and resembling its English counterpart. Irish churches are unusually imposing and reach higher than the town is wide, probably as a statement of the power of the Catholic Church.
The grey reaches further, Vesuviusically smothering cars from ground to roof rack, and everywhere reaching up exactly one foot from the ground, to line the external walls of each and every building in the land. No one, but no one, in Ireland cleans their walls! Some older buildings have been known to have more ‘grey’ stuck to them than they have original walls left.
The waterlogged nature of the land sees all it’s inhabitants sticking rigidly to terra firm, unlike their English neighbours, who excitedly rush out to buy “Hunter” wellies of all hues, expressly for the purpose of stomping across mud soaked fields. The Irish though will not add muddy boots to the list of that already claimed by the sodden land.
I’ve heard of the Irish being rudely called bog hoppers. Let’s get this clear now. There are bogs aplenty but you won’t catch an Irishman within 100 yards of one, or anywhere that there is no form of paving. They refuse to hop anything wet and will happily detour a mile to avoid muddy feet. By and large they are urban and disinterested in the countryside.
Man With a Pipe 