It was an icy cold day today. I needed some food supplies and I didn't know how treacherous the roads might be so me and Finn set off for Bushmills on the tractor. Conditions weren't too bad and it seemed a thaw had set in.
A car coming from the direction of Bushmills pulled up ahead of us. A side window was lowered and a young man of oriental appearance spoke:
Is this the road to the whiskey factory?
No. There's nothing of interest that way.
Well I suppose there might be the odd illicit poitín still on the foothills of the Antrim Hills but I wasn't going to tell him one of Northern Ireland's closely guarded secrets, was I?
I tried giving him some directions but after a few attempts it was obvious that he was only getting more confused so, to coin a phrase, I said, "Follow me". After a six-point turn and nearly getting stuck on the banking he and his companions followed me to the town.
When we reached the distillery car-park, I pointed to the whiskey factory, he gave me the thumb's up and we waved each other good-bye.