We got up early, drove to Stansted, flew into Belfast, investigated Dungannon for an hour or so, lunched splendidly in a gloomy but friendly pub, then drove west and over the border to Sligo. It was a lovely day. I took precisely three photographs. And while the whole enterprise might appear somewhat disastrous on the Carbon Footprint front, please bear in mind, before consigning me to Carbon Hell, that, with a combined age of 38 years, the younger Doyles had never flown in their lives before!
On the return flight, IM watched in wonder as the sun set slowly over layers of fluffy pink cloud, and then the first twinkly lights appeared far below. Nose pressed to window for the entire hour's journey. Magical.