I'm off to Ireland shortly, on the annual pilgrimage that we have in our family instead of a holiday.
This year, events have conspired to keep me out of County Mayo on the days surrounding the 15th of August - usually, and consistently, the best part of the year for me. The 15th is The Feast of the Assumption - the 'Lá an Logha' (pron: lawn laower) and is a big fairday in Belmullet.
The town is blocked off and packed in a way that I somehow doubt would be legal in the UK. It teems with kids running around with the water pistols and pellet guns (again, illegal, even in Ireland) that are sold at the fair.
Every pub is packed, spilling out on to the crowded streets and a couple of them have live music from the Comhaltas-Nashville continuum. It's one of those days that shows how the body can cope with more booze if you're in the right move.
Like everyone else, I suspect, I have a usual limit that determines when I get uselessly drunk / destined for an unbearable hangover. For some reason, on the 15th, that limit doubles.
At around the same time, Geesala festival is going on, with the day of horse-racing on the beach at Doolough. Doolough races happens every day in heaven.