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After an excellent night’s sleep, I woke with that particular craving only the British Isles can truly understand: a nice, strong cup of tea to shock the eyelids into action. Mission accomplished, our plan was clear — make it to the Galway City Museum for its 10am opening. Thankfully, it’s perched right on the seafront, meaning only a short stroll from our accommodation.

The weather? Grey, damp, and drizzly — in other words, Ireland being Ireland. But miracle of miracles, we made it without getting wet, which in Galway counts as a minor victory.

Inside, the museum turned out to be far more enlightening than expected. I’ve always been a bit muddled when it comes to Irish and Anglo-Irish history (to be fair, who hasn’t?), but this morning I genuinely learned a few things. For fellow history-heads or the historically-confused, I’ve prepared a neat little digest in a separate post (link here). Consider it my public service to save others from the same muddle.

By noon, however, the heavens opened. Strolling about town in biblical rain? Hard pass. Instead, we executed a tactical retreat  to Seasan Ua Neactain (do not ask me to pronounce it) pub for a couple of pints.

We book a table at Flanagan’s pub next door to our accommodation . Lunch there was classic Irish fare — hearty, satisfying, and perfect for six people wedged together at a table designed for four. The only disappointment was the wine. Bottles with screw caps flown in from Chile and Argentina — which felt less “rustic pub charm” and more “airport duty free clearance sale.” Honestly, Ireland, if you’re in the EU, at least buy wine from France, Spain, or Italy. Save the planet and our taste buds.

After regrouping in our rented house, the rain finally eased, and we set off to see Galway Cathedral.

Now, don’t be fooled: the word “cathedral” usually conjures up visions of medieval grandeur, flying buttresses, and a touch of incense-soaked mystery. Galway’s? Built in the 1960s. Solid, yes. Impressive in scale, certainly. But atmospheric? Let’s just say it has all the gravitas of a particularly devout bus station.

Our last evening in Galway was low-key: dinner at home with provisions from the corner shop and 3 take away pizzas as well as a far better bottle of wine than Flanagan’s could ever dream of stocking.

Sometimes, the simplest nights in are the best. Tomorrow, new adventures beckon — hopefully under slightly less soggy skies.

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