It’s a place where femininity outnumbers the male ego, as a colourful catwalk leaves little to the imagination (Lady Gaga wouldn’t get a look in).
There mission, to bag a man.

It’s a place where spit in the hand deals, drunken brawls and hot-tempered stallions roam.
A place where you are guaranteed horse shit on your shoes, relentless crowds, and the worthwhile queue for battered fish and chips.

A place where you indulge on one of many trips to the fun fair, pasty white skin is a definite no no, caravans outnumber cars and the English language is ever so flamboyant.
But with all that, there’s a job to be done.

“€800” a man shouts out to a potential buyer eyeing up his Connemara pony “€750 and we have a deal” a crowd gather’s “Sell away to him” a voices urges.
They spit and shake on €750 and that’s how it’s done.

It’s a gathering that remains authentic and with or without a celtic boom it will soldier on and continue to intrigue.