Tyrone

Tyrone is a petrol stop on the road west to the old port towns that now serve more lattes to tourists than beers to fishermen. The general store with the petrol sits next to a flat-roofed 1960s pub with a four leafed clover neon light - it's here that every New Years Day an annual 'bard of the spud' is uproariously selected from an ever growing and increasingly competitive collection of literary wannabes who inevitably seem to be named something like Murphy, Doolan or Flanagan who has waned lyrical about anything to do with spuds; recent results suggest that a reference to some local personality being found in a compromising position with said spuds has a better than even chance of carrying off the 'prize'. Real locals know better than to try and win the event, which, apart from the glory of holding the laurel until the next competition, carries with it the requirement to shout the bar.