I’m sitting in the lobby of a nice golf course hotel near Tipperary, Ireland enjoying a half pint. Attempting to destress, not from the fact the wife is perturbed that I prefer to order half pints and not pints, which runs the cost up an extra euro or so for every pint consumed, but from white knuckle driving the very narrow country lanes, roads and sometimes pathways that Google finds when you plug in a location you need to get to.
At various intervals since leaving Dublin we’ve been on the larger M expressways which are just wonderful, small country two lane roads, and actual “lanes”, wide enough for one car and certainly not two, though they do allow for two opposing cars to share the “lane”. Meaning that you find yourself diving into mud and mush on the left side of the car to avoid a head-on collision every few minutes.
I don’t mind the sound of splatter going down the rear left quarter panel so much as hearing the wife audibly gasp, scream, and hit that non-existent brake. I swear to you at one time during the morning drive here we were cruising at 80, or 48MPH, when we happened upon a one lane bridge over a stream. No warning, just a narrow one-lane bridge. I shudder to think of what might have happened had I encountered an oncoming car hitting this small bridge at the same time, as I was braking down from 80, had there been another car coming our way I’d be on the phone with the rental car company telling them that I had just destroyed their fine Puegeot automobile.
The half pints are causing the tension to ease, and I am beginning to relax enough to argue that I am entitled to order half pints, instead of pints, as I prefer the half pints, they stay colder longer, and just seem to go down easier. Extra Euro be damned.
I’ll have to check the left passenger side of the car to determine if the wife wore a hole into the carpet trying to apply a non-existent brake. The speed limits are all in metrics so there we are going 80 on a road that seems way too small to be cruising along at near 50 miles an hour, and every approaching truck it feels as if they are going to tear off the right side mirror.
Driving through Ireland from the “wrong side” of the car is not for the faint of heart.
And here we are in the heart of Ireland, just outside of Tipperary, or as our waitress has informed us the locals refer to as “Tip-Town”.
I know I said in a recent column that America needs to become more isolationist, and to rebuild our own manufacturing base. And I do believe that. But I happen to be in Ireland on a quest to find a mattress manufacturer who will make a hand crafted all natural fiber mattress that can be sold in the United States. Cotton, lambs wool, cashmere, organic latex. I’m not an “earth dog” myself, but I’d like to exploit the “Green” marketplace and demand in the states for all natural material products.
On a recent trip to London I glanced down from the plane descending into London to see Ireland below, and thought of “Irish Linens”. They have the connotation of being a finer product. The same way someone might say “Egyptian Cotton”, and you just immediately know that it is a higher thread count, a finer feel, a better product.
I’d sold beds for years to hotels as part of a package of furnishings. Sold thousands and thousands of beds. And it hit me, why not bring the “Irish Linen” message into the mattress itself, sell a handcrafted Irish made mattress with all the benefits of “Irish Linen”, lambs wool, organic cotton, natural rubber tree latex.
So yeah, I think America should become more isolationist, build up our manufacturing base, and place tariffs on imports. But call me a hypocrite, I also want to become an importer, and bring Irish mattresses into the US.
So that is how I find myself near Tipperary, the wife and I determining if we have the strength after a long drive to head out to Limerick for dinner. From here it is on to Killarney. Then off to Ardmore and on. The quest to find an Irish manufacturer to make a high quality all natural product will continue. This bed venture, like the driving here, is quite a challenge.
I do realize that I am holding two opposing thoughts inside my head at the same time. Become an importer myself, while decrying imports and claiming we need to increase our own US manufacturing base.
Which doesn't necessarily make me a hypocrite, but a “Real American”.
Besides, the Irish are our “friends”, we’ve certainly never been at war with them, they are all cousins. Who in America doesn’t have a drop of Irish blood? I may have a German surname, and Hispanic heritage, but from my mothers side I am dyed green through, and through, an Irishman with the Irish gift of gab.
So although I think we should tariff the world’s goods and build up our manufacturing base, well, Irish products should be exempt. They are such a fine people. My people.
So the adventure continues. And I reconcile my opposing thoughts with ease. It’s not like I’m doing business with Communist China. All right, all right, yes, I’ll admit it, I did sell Chinese beds at one time as well. Wow. I’m an awful human.
Oh well, off we go to the next manufacturer, the next town. It just so happens that to find the best Irish made product we have to stay in some of the finer hotels in Ireland and test out the mattresses for comfort. It’s a part of the job.
The half pints are just a bonus.
Nice
Listen to your wife order the whole pint and drink faster. You’ve got to start saving for retirement.