“Daddy, make the man stop doing posts about Northern Ireland”.
Nearly there. In fact, Sunday was our last morning before a trick overnight crossing home.
A chance to say “Bye” to the Bangor swan boats,
and head into Belfast for some “actual” tourism.
Mrs RM and Emma did the Crumlin Road Jail and the Falls Road. Matt and I went Titanic.
“Bet there’s no Plum Porter” said Matt. It took me 27 minutes to get the joke.
The Titanic exhibition is a masterwork. There’s even a little ride where you get to see blokes having a last pint of Iceberg before the maiden voyage.
Beautifully recreated state rooms, more facts than the GBG, but sadly not enough of the actual iceberg’s story. Was it sorry ? Did it have to be put down.
Worth 90 minutes, which for us is an eternity.
Then across the road to McHughs, allegedly a real ale oasis.
“Do you have real ale” I ask (no hand signal).
Sadly not, though there’s a hefty 7% keg stout.
We head for the music.
And enjoy a penultimate creamy pint of Guinness with bar snacks that luckily come without calories Information.
Four American ladies of a certain age take the table even closer to the music, and ask for tasters. Of cider.
They end up with bottles of Koppaberg. Southworths, I expect better from you when YOU visit.