*Inspired by my many visits to Kinsale in Ireland and the Spaniard pub where I did indeed see an old fisherman come in and cook fresh fish over a roaring fire one October night. My mouth watered as it cooked. Can’t remember if I tried a bit or not but probably did.
Picture courtesy of http://www.essential-ireland.com
This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made
He smokes his food most of the time
smells of fish and bacon rind
Been smoking his food a long time now
A local legend in his harbour town
This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made
On a winter’s night he’ll be in the pub
over the fire he’ll cook his grub
People from miles around will come
to listen to his stories, join in the fun
This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made
He’ll bring out the fiddle and play a tune
maybe sing a song in the smoky room
Beaming faces red and full
listen to his stories however tall
This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made
As the night ends he staggers home
sometimes by the harbour he’ll sit alone
Thinking of all he’s done in life
the sea his companion his eternal wife
This old boy he’s seventy-three
he goes by the name of Old Smokey
For he’s a fisherman by trade
sells and cooks what’s caught and made
http://www.thespaniard.ie/
http://kinsale.ie/
http://www.discoverwestcork.com/
http://www.kinsaleapp.com/
Caliburnus Rises 
Posted on Jun 5, 2013
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