Search Results for 'Black Sea'
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Imagine yourself reclining under a deep azure sky, as the polished teak deck moves almost imperceptibly with the rhythm of the Mediterranean and a refreshing evening breeze ruffles the air.
It seems the little man-een is coming back to us. At the moment in the middle of Eyre Square lies a large wooden box housing a team of workmen, beavering away on some secret project, Galway’s answer to Shrodinger’s cat. But this cat may be out of the bag, because speculation is rife (when is speculation anything other than rife?) that in the second week of next month, a familiar face will return to the Square. And it’s not a minute too soon.
If you’re planning a bit of extra marital atin’ over the fence, spreading the wild oats and praying for a crop failure, then next Sunday night is not the night to do it. Not this year anyway. Cos this is the night that the hotels of the country will be scoured to make sure that everyone in the room (registered or not) is lined up again a wall and counted for the purposes of the Census. For one night, fight your desire to avail of low-rate Sunday rates for liaisons of love. That’s the night that the staff will kick in the door, tap ya on the shoulder while you’re in flagrante delicto, ask who are you, what’s your name, have you any kids, how do you get to work, and how the hell did you manage to get into that position without ruining your back?