Donegal
On the express bus northward. I could have stayed in Donegal a lot longer. It's been magical, and I felt at ease. If Ballina reminded me of Denmark, and Sligo Australia, Donegal felt like...Wales. it was soft- if you fell over you'd be cushioned. There was a real magic there. Wales for me is full of kind women who've seen beyond the sometimes odd way I present, and go straight into real talk. Maybe it isn't like that in general...but that's who I've met there. And so it was in Donegal. I went straight on the bus to Kilcar, to do a real proper pilgtimage. The wonderful Maureen had agreed to give me a tour of the factory at Donegal Yarns- the second of the three large woollen mills still left on the island. The sounds! The machinery! The colours! The way everyone looked up and beamed when they saw it was Maureen going past. That was really special to see, and to feel. I met Nora, the woman behind the fantastic colours they use here. I've used their yarn in ...