Have You Seen the Metal Man, the Metal Man, the Metal Man...

Some photos on Flikr (I'm so with-it) took me back a few years, to the time I visited Tramore in Waterford County, Ireland.

My friend and I were kinda circumnavigating the Republic in an effort to sell nylon bushes to engineering companies (hot stuff). Actually, to be honest, Patrick was doing the selling. I mostly just drank Guinness and smoked. Nevertheless, we both conspired to enjoy one of the funniest trips ever.

First of all there was the bizarreness of Patrick being of solid English stock, yet having been conceived in the hotel at the end of the Dingle Peninsula, and needing to visit the spot. On a gorgeous day, we crunched badly shelled crab sandwiches in the public bar and I worried about whether he was going to insist on seeing the actual bed.

But I digress.

We went to Waterford, and then to a B+B in Tramore, just along the road and smelling of slurry. And right nearby, on the cliff edge overlooking the wild Tramore Bay, were these three enormous stone pillars looking like decapitated lighthouses. There was a couple more across the other side, miles away. Odder still, on top of one of our three, there seemed to be an equally huge Toby Jug of a Victorian sailor, pointing out to sea. I cannot overstate quite how bizarre a sight this presented. We were utterly nonplussed.



We shortly discovered that these 60 feet high pillars represented a local take on shipping warnings - they identify the notoriously dangerous Tramore Bay, while the gaily painted monster rounds the message off. Keep away.

The Metal Man dates back to 1823, is about 14 feet high, is made of bronze and wears something of a jaunty expression for a portent of doom. Maybe it's his paint job that keeps him happy.

Up the hill a little way stands an equally lonely-looking pub with the unlikely name 'Rocketts of the Metal Man'. Perversely, this turned out to be not only seriously popular, but also just as bizarre. A large and empty bar, with a great sea view, girded out half as El Ranchero, and half as community hall, completely hid from view one of the most popular restaurants in all Ireland, as you could only reach the glorified dinner hut by leaving the pub by the back door and walking over a courtyard. Three choices - roast chicken, spare ribs or pigs trotters. We played safe and enjoyed an outstanding roast dinner for very little expense, while spectating the looks on stranger's faces as they were presented with half a pig's rib cage, boiled grey and served with cabbage. I'm sure it was very nice. And the trotters seemed popular too, but see above for appearance. Not for us.

It seems from a web search that the bloke on the pole hasn't changed one bit, but the pub has been gentrified, which is a great shame. It just looks like everywhere else in the brochures now.