|The Blarney Castle|
Like I need it!
|Christopher getting ready to romance the Stone|
My father, who was taking this picture, was having trouble getting the right angle, so I had to kiss the Blarney Stone for quite a long time. Despite the length of the kiss, there was no tongue.
There are many legends of the Stone. Most are pretty silly. Apparently Clídna, an Irish goddess told Cormac MacCarthy, the fifteenth-century builder of the Blarney Castle, that if he would kiss the first stone he saw the morning of a particularly sticky lawsuit, he would be able to talk his way out of it. He did, and then he took that stone to the top of the castle for safekeeping.
The Stone is bluestone, which is a bluish-gray sandstone, so if you intend to bend toward it, make sure you see a bluish-gray stone before you pucker up.
“Yeah, you have to bend quite a ways down,” I bragged to my father as we were climbing back down from the castle.
Then my father got quiet. “I don’t think I kissed it.”
“I don’t think many people can.” I was doing a back bend as I said this.
“Man!” This is my father “cursing.”
I think it’s safe to say that the Blarney Stone is not the most unhygienic tourist attraction in the world. That would be about a foot higher, where most people (who are not as flexible as myself and Shakira) romance the parapet.
I must be off,