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I have fond memories of Holyhead and the ferry to Dublin.
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These may, it is true, be now rose-tinted by time,
but I am sure that there is a pub in which we
enjoyed lunch and a couple of pints before boarding the ferry.
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Uig is not like that.
It is more a drive to it, join the queue,
and board the ferry sort of place…
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Which we eventually did,
but not before that dour Old Man of Storr
had a last go at us
by sucking the air out of one of our tyres.
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A taciturn farewell from the petrol station attendant
and we were away from that now damp and dismal looking place
and heading toward what looked, from our new vantage
on the ferry, to be a decidedly damp and dismal isle.
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As we approached the new land mass
it was…
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Where Genres Collide Traci Kenworth YA Author 