Stories from travels in

pig killing

There’s more to a country than its capital

When I ask an Irish person where they’re from, I get the name of the village. When I ask a Hungarian, if they’re not from

At the edge of a tradition (3)

It’s not often that parties in my world start at 7.30 am these days. Perhaps years ago when I was following Irish soccer and time

At the edge of a tradition (2)

I have the dubious distinction of being the only one of my Irish contemporaries who has managed to get this far in life without ever

At the edge of a tradition (1)

‘It’s perfect weather for a killing.’ Not quite the words I expected to hear over a pre-dawn breakfast before we braved the -12 degree cold