It takes at least two weeks in Ireland to understand the lingo — verbal and written. We have it down.
Brimming with deliciousness. Enquire within.
We serve mediocre fried food; we don’t do vehicle maintenance.
Someone’s horse keeps crapping in our yard. If you come and pick up the turds, you can have them.
We have a donkey and some chickens running wild in the hills over there. They will literally kick your arse if you set foot in here.
We have a tame house cat, however we’d prefer not to receive visitors at this time, thank you. Honey, how do you spell dangerous?
We have bats. Piss off.
On the red route, at least one of you will repeat the words “Are you kidding me? This still isn’t the top?” several times on the way up the mountain.
You’ve just stepped back in time. Smile nicely, pay, and leave. The pub is close by.
In case you’re standing on this side of the street and can’t see the Blue Bull Restaurant, it’s over there, on that side of the street.
Something, something, sheep.