“In a year’s time when the newspapers have forgotten me, dig me up and plant me in Sligo.” – W.B. Yeats
I confess to being disappointed when we first arrived in Sligo. It appeared rather austere and grey and subdued and dull compared with the colour and vibrancy and the vivaciously energetic Westport that we had left behind. There were no gaily painted houses and no effervescent floral displays, no pavement tables outside the pubs and no evidence of any bubbling street entertainment.
But, I have said before that it is wrong to be too hasty and make a premature judgment about a place and this proved to be the case in Sligo because a walk into the town centre revealed its hidden charms. Now and again you have to scratch the surface a little to find what you are looking for. Sometimes you need a crowbar but in Sligo we only needed a toothpick.
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