I should hope not
The developers of the hotel were Hanley brothers, a shower of cunts greater even than Lord Leitrim himself. They offered 10c on the euro to suppliers to the development before fucking off altogether into liquidation.
The same cunts own(ed) Kilronan Castle where the same financing took place. Meanwhile one of the fuckers built a fucking mansion near Cootehall with the readies. Cunts and fuck them and their hotels to the eternal fires of hell.
They bankrupted loads of neighbours of ours the bastards.
The fellas I was smoking with at the wedding admitted they were there under major protest, that the wives basically made them go, and that “it was typical of that cunt of a nephew to drag us to this fucker of a place” and that the “sooner he fucked off back to Dublin the better”.
I don’t believe that happened.
If you are going to make to something up at least try to keep away from the cliches.
It did indeed my long friend. The cliche would be that it was the girl who was from Leitrim.
This thread title. Gets me every time.
Packy is in poor health by all accounts.
I noticed he was absent for the Roscommon game and feared as much
A lad on a stag party pulled from the river dead.
Another lad on a seperate stag party critical after being kicked in the head a few times…
All ok up in Carrick lads?
Fucking kip of a spot.
Had the misfortune of being up there one weekend for a stag. There was at least 9 different stags there on the saturday night in a town the size of Gort. The place is cursed.
Mrs DB was told that both incidents were related
Carrick decided a few years ago to embrace the stag/hen parties or die a death like manor,hard to know which is worse being overrun by louts every weekend or live in a ghost town like manor
Minus the Brazilians as well.
While I haven’t been in Carrick in 12 months, I inadvertently found myself in Mohill last weekend. 2 oul’ stagers in Mohill and looking for somewhere different. There’s a pair of pubs facing each other at the intersection of the Commercial and Agricultural districts. We went into the pub of the C/B Treasurer (possibly) to find zero clientiele.
A quart of Guinness shared and Zip…Across the road (circa 11.10 pm.) rowled in to a vacant but open hostelry.
At 12 bells we finally re-orientated ourselves to the historical village of Fenagh where upwards of 60 were at full pelt in the monthly “Solo Singer of the year contest”. Adjudication was delayed due to late entrants.
Fuckin’ townie cunts.
But really, does Leitrim matter?