This was not really a great day for going anywhere weather wise. Undaunted, well may just a little bit daunted, we set off for Blarney Castle. In the early thirteenth century a stone structure replaced the tenth century wooden hunting lodge on the site. The stone building was demolished in the mid fifteenth century, so Dermot McCarthy could use the stone for the current tower house or castle. Like so many others, the castle fell to the Parliamentarians in the English Civil War. Although the castle  was restored to the McCarthys by Charles II, it was once again confiscated by William III, as the Catholic McCarthys supported James II. Caves beneath the tower are known as the Badger Caves and several legends are associated with them, with tales of prisoners being thrown into a pit in the caves and passages from the caves leading to Cork and Kerry. The inhabitants are supposed to have escaped with their valuables down these passages in Cromwell’s time, leaving little for his troops to loot.

We thought that the entrance fee was a bit on the steep side, especially as you would normally have to pay to  park as well. The machines were out of order so we escaped this. Of course the tourist honey pot here is the Blarney Stone, which has been kissed by tourists for over two hundred years, in order to be rewarded with the gift of the gab. Allegedly Queen Elizabeth I associated the word Blarney with smooth talking flattery because the then lord of the castle Cormac MacDiramada, tried to persuade the queen of his loyalty to prevent her from seizing Blarney for the crown. She shrewdly saw through his sycophancy.

There were signs warning visitors of the ‘arduous’ climb to the stone, which is at the top of the castle on the battlements. They aren’t wrong about this. Clambering up what I think was four floors worth of very narrow spiral steps that were slippery with rain was possibly not one of my better ideas. Be warned, this is an all or nothing climb, once you are on the path to the top there doesn’t seem to be any option to bail out half way. We passed on the kissing the stone thing, not least because I talk too much anyway, although I don’t think I am guilty of ‘smooth talking flattery’. Kissing the stone involves taking off glasses and emptying pockets in case anything falls out, false teeth weren’t mentioned but maybe those are in peril too. You then lie down on what was on the day of our visit a very soggy mat and bend backwards with your head considerably lower than your bottom, supporting yourself by gripping on to metal bars. The men who were disinfecting the stone between kisses and hanging on to people to stop them plunging head first to their doom had prominently displayed bowls for tips and then you could pay more for photos (I heard the sum of €10 mentioned) that were taken of you in a very strange position. It all seemed a bit like fleecing gullible tourists to me. To be fair, the gardens and grounds were extensive and we did explore a little. I was particularly keen on the poison garden. Blarney House, built in 1874, is on the site but is not open to the public. In half decent weather woodland and riverside walks would have given us better value for our entrance money.