There were two men driving tractors who each took a bet as to who would take more time driving their vehicle through Schull.

The track was laid out from the welcome sign on the road along from the Mizen, down through the Main Street, where there was the most potential for congestion, and then on to the road out to Ballydehob and the sign that said ‘See you again.’

In a car on a good day the journey should take no more than a couple of minutes but the men reckoned that with a fair wind, bad weather and some foreign drivers they could spin the journey out to at least a good hour.

Their tractors were big vehicles; the width of a car and half again with wheels the height of a man and at least a foot thick. With an average car parked on either side of the Main Street there should be just enough room to squeeze one of them through the gap in the middle, but all that it took was a car too big or badly parked and the tractor would have to stop and wait for whoever might be driving the car to step out and move it.

They set down some rules. If the tractor was stationary for more than five minutes or there were at least four loud parps from different cars stuck behind it then the driver would be obliged to step down from his cab and investigate the shops to try and find the driver of the offending car.

So much the better if the driver should a parent who had taken time out to send children into one of the shops to be kept quiet with ice-cream. The gathering audience would be able observe as the errant father emerged from his shop having placating his brood to be presented with the sight of his car being the root cause of the horns and general unhappiness outside.

The ideal was to get in to a situation so that the tractor was coming down the hill with a hire car of some sort travelling the opposite way. The tractor driver would have to drive sufficiently slowly so as to lure the hire car and any cars following into the main drag of the Main Street to a point where there was no reversing for either the tractor or the hire car. At this point the driver of the tractor was entitled to disembark so as to able to provide useful but useless guidance to the hapless driver of the hire car.

If the driver of the hire car spoke no English then so much the better. If English was spoken then the tractor driver was allowed to thicken his accent. Either way he would ensure that the hire car was addressed as ‘this feckin’ car’ but with a smile so that no offense was intended.

If a queue of cars developed then the tractor driver would be able to walk along to each in it to set out the predicament. Once at the back of the queue and down to the last car he would start on his instructions to reverse up. He would wave the car backwards, taking it slow so that no damage was done, and either park the car up in a space on the street or manoeuvre it into one of the side roads where it could block further traffic to come.

There was a great deal to be had in the timing. Mid afternoon worked best as then there would be a tide of cars driving up from the harbour. They would be able to back down on the Pier Road and the addition of four or five cars down there could only add to the confusion on Main Street. If horns parped down there then they were free to go at it as they pleased. But added delay could be had with a diversion down there to explain something of the problem and to put the blame on ‘the feckin’ car that some feck can’t drive being stopped up the hill with nowhere to go.’

Points were to be had if the maximum distress and unhappiness could be reached outside of Hackett’s. There an audience would be sat with the benefit of a good lunch and a few pints well able to appreciate the slow grinding of gears and the dissipating of humour as cars were locked into stalemate for an hour or so in the heat of an afternoon.

There is nothing attractive about a wetsuit. They are tight, uncomfortable, ungainly things that squeeze at your body, pushing the stomach into places it does not want to go, cutting off the blood supply to arms, legs and head and for good measure constricting the throat so in order to breathe you have to hold your head up high and look straight ahead. But they do help keep you warm when the water cold.

So yesterday I squashed myself into one which did all of the above and then managed to rearrange my crotch so that it lay awkwardly across my lower stomach.

I looked like the gimp from Pulp Fiction and no doubt made a fine sight as I found myself bumping into our neighbour, who kindly introduced herself and then spent five minutes passing pleasantries as I stood legs forced akimbo trussed up and ready for the rack.

I then took out one of the kayaks and went fishing for mackerel. There is an additional frisson trying to catch fish so low in the water and in a boat that can easily capsize with one bad move. There is no room for anything so if you do catch fish the line and the hooks and the thrashing fish all have to be tucked into the six inch gap between the knees and you then have to try an untangle them and get the fish off the hooks, give them a tap on the back of the head and then throw them into the bucket.

It can be difficult enough with just one fish on the line. Yesterday my first haul of fish had four of them all pulling in different directions a fighting to get away. The mackerel had some brief revenge as the hooks caught in my fingers and legs as I tried to get through them.

I caught another six of the course of the next twenty minutes. Each time the line went back into the water it was more of a tangled mess until it was time to give up and paddle back to the Cottage.

As I paddled back I saw a kestrel over Owen’s Island. It hovered in the light presumably looking for some seagull chicks that might still be in the nest although it seems too late in the season for that.

I had three of the mackerel for lunch on the barbeque eating them less than an hour after they had come out of the water. They only took five minutes to cook and I had them just as they were. They were very fine.

The rest of them I filleted and skinned. I then chopped the pale stickly flesh with sweetened cucumber, capers, gherkins, lemon juice, olive oil and seasoning. I ate the mackerel tartare smeared on small pieces of toast with a dash of horseradish.

Later I made first use of the Pernod but that is another story.

This morning the bay looks millpond calm in its centre and the orange fishermen buoys stand out in stark relief against the greys and blues of the mirror finish of the water. The smooth surface is then broken by the gentle drift of two white swans sending out a runnel of ripples behind them.

Across the bay Knocknamadree stands tall and triangular over the Mizen. We drove behind it yesterday to make the trip to the radio station at the tip of the penisula and then to Barley Cove.

On a clear day the Mizen was the last sight of Europe that the old big ships and their passengers would have before heading into the Atlantic proper and to the New World over the water. It is an empty desolate place leavened by the large car park and gaudy tourist experience with it café and trinkets for sale. Yesterday had started grey with the possibility of wet so there were plenty of cars that had made the trip out there for a day out away from too much rain.

Beyond the café there is a concrete path that takes you down by the side of the cliffs to a bridge that crosses a chasm of broken rocks and water and then on to the final spit of land that juts out into the sea on which the old radio station and light is positioned.

The bridge is new having been rebuilt about five years ago. I have a vague memory of the old iron bridge painted white over splintered rust. You would want to be sure of the bridge. The new one is made out of concrete but was small against the cliffs that were bent and wrought out of shape. There were gaps through the rocks through which it was possible to see Three Castle Head and beyond that the three white houses of Toreen at the end of the Sheep’s Head.

Near the café there was the propeller of a boat that had foundered on the rocks below almost an hundred years ago. The plaque next to it recorded how six lives had been lost but many others saved. The survivors had been able to cling on to the cliffs and they had been pulled up with a series of ropes and harnesses. Inside one of the huts there was a battered stretcher tied together with pieces of old rope similar to what they had used.

Beyond the radio station the path carries on down a set of steps to a small platform which has a red light on it. Standing there and looking out to America we could see gannets in the air and below them, only for a moment, black smudges in the water where dolphins were breaking the surface.

We then went on to Barley Cove. The only true slice of sandy beach within striking distance of the Cottage and even then it is a good 40 minutes in the car to get there. We were lucky and for two hours the grey cloud and rain was pushed back and the beach was filled with light and the sun.

With the sun out and the blue sky you could almost convince yourself that you were somewhere far hotter but it took only one foot dipped in the numbingly cold sea to bring you back to where you are.

Jerry O’Malley had the floor. ‘Now you see with a hen there are two opposite ends to the story. The start of the story is when you put the hen in the field and it lays its egg and it sits there for a few weeks and then when those few weeks have passed we get to the culmination and the chicken makes its way out of the egg and the story is finished until such time as that chicken is a hen and the story starts all over again.’

‘We are agreed that there is no great excitement in the laying of the egg but think on the drama when that egg starts to hatch and then think on if there should be six eggs in the patch and there is a crowd around to see which one of the eggs starts to crack first. To help spur on the excitement each of those eggs will have a number on it and the men will be there to put their money down on which of those eggs hatches first. Now I have been thinking on this and that in itself would be enough to have the crowd on the edge of the seats.’

‘But there are subtleties that could be introduced from there, niceties, to make it a more inclusive event. I have been thinking hard on this now and I think there is a possibility that with the tension that a man feels whilst waiting for an egg to hatch we have a game that could involve every man, woman and child that walks up the road for the festival.’

‘There’s Ted Kinsella who breeds chickens there in an incubator. He tells me that he has got the art of setting the temperature down so that he can guarantee that all his eggs will have hatched by the end of an afternoon.’

‘We could set that incubator up on the road so there is a good pile of eggs cooked and ready to be delivered for hatching as the people arrive. Then as they walk in each of them for a fee will be given an egg to hold for the day. For those with thick and loose fingers they could be given some bubble wrap to keep the thing safe in.’

‘Then once all the eggs have been handed out and the fees collected we can sit back and wait for the main event and see which of those eggs that have been handed out hatches first. Each of our visitors will have become there own personal incubator and they will have a vested interest in the outcome.’

The chairman rapped his fingers on the table making enough noise to allow Jerry to draw to a close. The chairman had the end of the meeting in mind and the refreshment there was to be had in the pub.

‘Now Jerry you have put good thought and consideration into how we might keep the masses entertained in three weeks time and I can perceive some of the more positive aspects of what it is you have to suggest. I have no little doubt if there is a child there on the afternoon of the competition who has the good luck to have in its hand the winning egg that hatches and gives rise to a chicken then the look of pure delight and the smiles that will no doubt crack open the little buggers face will make the front page of The Southern Star. But I have my doubts and am concerned that if we apply some more thought to the plan we will see that the odds are stacked up against it and I can foresee that for every picture of delight there will be a whiff of bad publicity.’

The chairman wanted his drink but he also needed to get the point across.

‘There will be a fool who will have an egg in his hand and some friend of his will pass over a pint and needing a free hand to take it the fool will put his hand in his pocket and without thinking will leave the egg there. Now I accept that this could be any man’s pocket and good luck to it but there will be a risk that the next time a hand and its fingers go in there then all they will find will be some pieces of broken shell and the small ball of feathers that’s a newly hatched chicken.’

‘Now as I have suggested there are some pockets that are better than others. I am not to gainsay and it could be that this chicken will grow into a fine old cock that will take the parade in any barnyard but there could be bad tidings that will lurk in some pockets. All it would take is a few heavy fingers, a half opened penknife or a search for some fags and the life of the newly hatched chicken will be snuffed out before the bundle of yellow feathers has even a sniff of fresh air.’

‘And then there will be he crush in the pub. Those men who have not neglected the egg in their pocket will no doubt be keeping it tight in their fist. But if we are there two days into the festival then those same men will be raising their fist into the air to keep their egg safe. Now Jerry have you given any thought as to how a man with an egg in one hand is going to be able to hold two pints. The short answer is that it cannot be done. And Jerry if there is a shortage of men able to hold onto two pints at one time then there will be a holdup, no, I say to you there will be a crush in the pub.’

‘Jerry you know as I do that a pub has a rhythm, a good way of working, that depends as much on the good people behind the bar as it does on the people taking their drink. If on a busy day you incapacitate half the audience by having them hold an egg in their right hand then that smooth flow will be disturbed and there will be a risk of riot if men are left waiting too long for their pints.’

‘And I can see an exacerbation of the problem should any of those men decide to relive the pressure for a moment by leaving an egg on the bar whilst they carry out their two pints. What would happen if the egg was to hatch on the bar. Before you know it the pub on its busiest day would be awash with baby chickens. I can see them now on the bar, squawking for their mother, and getting in the way of the girls doing their best to serve.’

‘No I am sorry Jerry your idea had good legs and could have run a good race but I see the potential for disaster coming up at the last fence.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen we have sat here for two hours debating this matter and now as chairman I will make my suggestion and it is one that I think will hold. When you have heard then I suggest that we can break up for the day and if any of you have a concern with the idea then we take that up in the pub.’

‘I know that it is not an idea that has been free from mishaps in the past but if we manage it carefully and keep Bridget Cronin’s Jack Russell locked up then I would be happy to suggest that we re-run the crab chase and to make the most of the course I think there is the potential for there to be two competitions. The first will be the usual closed chase and the participants can choose their crab with a number on and hope that it comes in ahead of the pack. But the second will be an open chase where the real spice kicks in and the competitors get to catch their own crab, train it up and then it can be entered into the competition.’

The chairman stood up and put his hands on the table.

‘The meeting is closed’ he said. ’Now we can chew over the detail over a pint.’