The foam of the Sligo pint had hardly been licked from our lips when we arrived in the next county. Tullaghan lies on Leitrim's few measly miles of coast and we soon found a pub whose frontage just screamed for us to come in.

Sadly, few others had accepted the invitation and just like Thady O'Neill's the previous night, we were alone with the barman. There were still balloons and decorations in various shades of green scattered around the establishment as though a birthday party had been organised for someone with no friends. The eerie silence was broken only by the gentle tinkle of ice cubes on glass and the sound of Brian farting - again. As we had feared, the quality of Guinness had deteriorated steadily as we travelled northwards from Kerry. With little to keep us interested and time ticking away, we left and got back onto the main road to Donegal.