The idea of him degenerating into senility, ranting at anyone who'll listen, or just into the wind, whilst longingly casting his eyes over the Atlantic in the direction of the faraway US, living-out his self-imposed exile at Doonbeg does have a certain symmetry though.
The idea of him degenerating into senility whilst longingly casting his eyes over the Atlantic in the direction of the faraway US, whilst living-out his self-imposed exile at Doonbeg does have a certain symmetry though.
The Doonbegians will doff their caps to him as he sits on the sand spreading himself out in an attempt to stop the coastal erosion from flooding his golf course...
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.