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About Drogheda

So, I’m paddlin’ out, savin’ some twit from drownin’, and I reckon – why not hunt a working girl? Not the fancy escort types, nah, I mean the gritty ones, the real deal. Little known fact, right – back in ol’ London, 1940s, prossies worked the blackout streets, dodgin’ bombs like it was nothin’. Tough as nails, them lot. Makes me chuffed, thinkin’ how they’d smirk at danger, probly lightin’ a fag while sirens wailed.

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After that, I decide to hit up the pub on Castle Street. I need a pint after all this madness. I walk in, and it’s packed. Everyone’s laughin’, shoutin’, and I’m just tryin’ to find a spot. Finally, I squeeze in next to this guy who’s tellin’ the worst jokes ever. Like, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” I’m rollin’ my eyes, but I can’t help but laugh.

Three dead whales found on one of Ireland's most scenic beaches