A final sit at Pippa’s father’s writing desk. A final write from the HalfDoor Cottage, a final visit from Mr Baggins. And I’m off.

Heading to Dublin today and then tomorrow, home.

It has been a wonderful journey. Full of adventure, getting lost, getting found, meeting new friends and learning new parts of me to befriend.

I’ve loved it all, from the curving, narrow shoulderless roads, driving with the gearshift on the left hand side of the steering wheel, and trying to find my way and losing myself with Google maps insistence she knows where I’m going even when I don’t.

And late yesterday afternoon was the piece de resistance!

Earlier that morning, I’d attended a poetry workshop at the Dromineer Yacht Club, with poet, Vona Groarke. While there, I heard about a sold out event with the Literary Festival that was being held within Nenagh Castle later that day. After checking if it was possible someone might have a ticket for sale at the last minute, I decided I’d risk it and turn up, just in case.

I spent the afternoon wandering town, grabbing a bite at Talbot’s Pub (that’s a story for another telling), sat inside the quiet of the majestic cathedral for half an hour and lit a candle for my mother, wandered the silence of the graveyard and along the streets of Nenagh. Outside Country Choice, I encountered Margaret, one of the volunteers who’d hosted that morning’s poetry writing workshop. When she heard I was hoping to buy a ticket to the evening’s Castle event, she promptly called a man she knew had an extra.

And that’s how I came to be sitting in the front row of hard plastic chairs placed beneath the giant circular light fixture suspended from the rafters far above.

It was an evening of magic, mystery and awe.

I was truly enchanted.

A harpist, Laura O’Sullivan, Irish songstress, Cathie Ryan, poet, Vona Groarke, who lead a rich and lively conversation with Robert O’Byrne, the author of Left without a Handkerchief.

As described on its website: “Left Without a Handkerchief will fill a gap in the national narrative, featuring the stories of ten houses and their owners. From Galway to Wexford, Mayo to Cork, it will give a voice to the dispossessed, to the people who thought they had a place in Ireland until, usually in the course of a single night, they were disabused of this belief. As the centenary of the onset of house burnings arrives, now is the time to tell their story.”

His account of the times of ‘the burnings’ and the ‘revolution’ and the years of discord and upheaval filled gaps in my knowledge, and opened many questions about this land of such beauty, friendliness and violence.

I’m off today for Dublin town.

I’ll be back.