"Fast food takeaway..." But sorry we're closed. It's the summer of 2008 and the world's biggest financial crisis is just about to worsen and intensify. The Anglo-Saxon fast cash takeaway society model, economies and popular cultures based on escalating consumption and spending, is about to fold. I saw it coming. This Monday morning picture in July from the seaside resort of Blackpool, which has been referred to as Britain's "city of broken dreams", where I spent my first night on RT 2008, is pretty telling. Cheap junk food...
	...and ice lollies for the kids...
	...and roller-coaster rides, amusement parks, casinos and lines of slot machines...
	...and a Ferris wheel on the pier… But no people. The party's over, the beach is empty, the shops are closed and the sky is grey. Britain's "New Labour" experiment didn't quite take this possible scenario into account when stepping on the accelerator year after year.
	Continuing north toward the Lake District, passing hills and meadows with grazing sheep and trees that are a few hundred years old. Neither the sheep nor the trees care about the economy. It was refreshing to know that some were able to keep their distance.
	One of the picturesque villages in the Lake District is Hawkshead. This is the "Sun Cottage", selling for example homemade cakes, homemade ham hock terrines with pickled red cabbage and olive oil bread, and homemade sea food chowder filled with salmon, cod, mussels, prawns and more.
	Narrow alley between white cottages with tiled roofs, filled with lush green plants and flowers.
	The Honey Pot is another local merchant of specialist foods including mint cake, rum butter, brandy butter, lemon cheese and chocolates.
	Even rather simple bed and breakfast establishments make an effort to look presentable and very homely.
	Quintessentially English. A plant sculptured as a tea pot in front of a very English tiled window and plaster façade behind a very English limestone wall. When taking this picture, I knew that RT 2008 was going to be about timelessness versus transitory fleeting minutes; heritage and peace of mind versus immediacy and the fickle focus on fragile outcomes.
	Speaking about timelessness, many great authors come from or can be associated with northern England and Scotland, from William Wordsworth, John Keats, Lord Tennyson and Beatrix Potter to Robert Burns and Walter Scott. This is Wordsworth's own street in Hawkshead (formerly "Leather, rag & putty street", a great name in itself).
	And of course Beatrix Potter is here as well. Here's a proud "authorized stockist" of stuffed toys and souvenirs.
	Continuing across the English countryside from village to village, from town to town, one is struck by the always very funny names of local pubs, one wittier than the next. Here is the "Drunken duck" watering hole.
	More rolling green hills, more sheep...
	...and rolling streams beneath stone bridges, several centuries old.
	Hadrian's wall marked the former northern frontier of the Roman Empire, and it was also its most heavily fortified border. While measuring 117 kilometers, it took only about six years to construct the main part of the wall. Construction started in the year 122.
	Two girls with tattoos and modest piercings one afternoon in central Newcastle upon Tyne. I actually found Newcastle in 2008 to be a much neater and sprawling and more appealing city than its reputation as a lagging lifeless working-class town in a corner of England well behind its prime days.
	The older buildings are properly looked after, the streets are tidy, old warehouse lofts down by the river are being converted to luxury apartments, and cafes and restaurants, bars and bistros have sections with tables, parasols and plants on the cobblestone streets outside.
	Bridges over Tyne river.
	As a contrast to its older quarters, cliques of new architecture also make Newcastle interesting. Usually I am rather skeptical to avant-garde architectural forays (often designed by some over-rated celebrity prima donna architect and that have shamelessly ruined many attractive neighborhoods in cities around the world), but this example, the Sage Gateshead, is both clever, very advanced and likable. It is a center for music (performances, conferences, education) and is designed by Norman Foster. It opened in 2004.
	Another example is this modern campus building of Northumbria University.
	A short drive northeast outside Newcastle lies Whitley Bay. To any Dire Straits fan worldwide, the former amusement park called Spanish City is an immortal name and place. Renovation works were ongoing in the summer of 2008, but most of the original structure and the old iconic dome from 1912 remained.
	"And now I'm searching through these carousels and the carnival arcades Searching everywhere from steeplechase to palisades In any shooting gallery where promises are made To rockaway rockaway From Cullercoats to Whitley Bay Out to rockaway"
	"And girl it looks so pretty to me Like it always did Like the Spanish City to me When we were kids..." Guitar chords F - C - Dm - Bb - C - F - Bb - C.
	The sun was setting over Whitley Bay beach by the North Sea where I found a hotel room for the night, still quietly humming on the 27-year-old song...
	...before setting off toward Scotland early the following morning. From ancient times there has always been a very strong sense of pride and patriotism among the Celtic and Scottish people. Of course the border between England and Scotland is marked with many blue-and-white flags, several bulky blue-and-white signposts and stone monuments, and a resting area for travelers here along road 1 just north of Berwick-upon-Tweed. Nope, it can absolutely not be missed by anyone that Scotland begins here.
	Although on top of this gate at Stirling Castle flies actually the Union Jack, the British flag. A roadtrip through Britain and Ireland would not be complete without at least one stop at a medieval castle. On my way north I picked the one by Stirling, located northwest of Edinburgh and surrounded on three sides by steep cliffs.
	Perhaps every schoolchild in Europe has at some point come across names like Wilfred of Ivanhoe, William Wallace (Braveheart), Richard the Lionheart and of course Robin Hood in their history or English literature classes (or via television). The very origins of Stirling Castle date back more than a thousand years, and the present fortress structure is built of stone and is well maintained. Running around in this fortress among dim tunnels and gateways and cast iron closures, and on the rooftop where black cannons point into the distance, is probably quite entertaining for a 10-year-old little boy.
	However I got bored after a couple of hours and set out for bigger targets...
	...namely the famed Loch Ness sea monster!
	I followed B852 along the south side of the lake from Dores toward Fort Augustus. The road was quite narrow and snaked beneath thick foliage on both sides, with only some stretches of the road coming quite close to the lake. There was little traffic and remarkably few tourists around.
	Loch Ness is very narrow but 37 kilometers long and up to 230 meters deep. It's also said to be quite cold. Just like in many other places around the world, such as Lake Baikal in Siberia which has its own monster stories, the fables about prehistoric deep-sea creatures are a very old part of local folklore, and very similar. Today, of course, it's all about monetizing this legacy. There are shops in Inverness packed to the brim with Loch Ness monster souvenirs, everything from little soft seagreen dolls to whisky glasses and key rings.
	And on this small stretch of pebble shore is where I met Nessie! Yep, promise. She came up, we had a brief chat but I couldn't stay for too long, I had a roadtrip project to run and must leave.
	Across the Scottish Highlands on four wheels toward the west coast.
	It is widely known that Europe has a problem with its demographics, mainly in terms of how different national pension and health care systems are structured and funded (i e in most countries, not least France and other Mediterranean countries, the pension systems are massively imbalanced and underfunded). But this demographic problem, with an ageing population, will also likely affect many other aspects of Europe over the next 10-20 years, and it will indeed not be frictionless. This street sign, pictured left, I had never seen before, but it was posted in several towns in Scotland along main streets.
	The pretty fishing village of Tarbert, shielded from the forceful Atlantic Ocean behind a range of hills.
	Lobster tines on the pier and a couple of colorful fishing boats...
	...and crates of sea prawns. The fishermen pictured asked, only half-jokingly, if I was from the European Commission when I took the pictures. EU has imposed fishing quotas on all member countries, in order to try to manage the harvests and outtakes from the oceans, prevent overfishing and stabilize competition. Whether everyone concerned - governments and individual boats - actually follow these quotas is a different question altogether.
	The Caledonian MacBrayne shipping company is operating the ferry link between Kennacraig and...
	...Port Ellen on the premier whisky island in the world, Islay.
	Following check-in at a lodge in Bowmore, the night was spent sampling whiskies at the Lounge Bar at the Lochside Hotel. At the time they had about 270 different whiskies on offer. In the sitting area by the bar a makeshift band of locals had brought their own instruments and were playing Scottish and Irish folk songs, and some modern tunes including Bob Dylan as well. The spirit was high and people in the crowded room sang along.
	Yeast added to the wort in large fermenting vats. Let the magic begin.
	Valuable golden drops distilled through a copper pot.
	The Lagavulin storage and ageing barn.
	Bottling and packaging, shipping it away to the whole world. Whisky is one of Scotland's most important export industries.
	The guided tours at the different distilleries on the island are scheduled so that visitors basically can go from one place and arrive just in time for the start of the next tour somewhere else. The principles of whisky making are the same so in the long run it becomes somewhat repetitive, but I did Bruichladdich, Laphroig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg.
	A stroll through Bowmore can also be interesting in terms of taking note of the architecture and street names.
	The Round Church in Bowmore is, as the name suggests, circular. The idea behind this was that one mustn't allow the Devil to hide in any corner of the church. Well, the presumed problem and reason for anxiety was solved through this inventive design, without corners.
	Residential streets on Islay. Austere, ascetic and pastel-colored. It might reflect what living on a rugged windy island right next to the infinitely powerful and ever-changing ocean is like.
	At the bow of the ship on a sunny afternoon on the way back from the Inner Hebrides to the mainland.
	Back at the Kennacraig ferry port, the roadtrip continued with a few hours of beautiful evening driving on roads 83 and 82 via the Argyll region and the national park Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, and onward down to Stanraer. Picture shows boy watching the landscape and sea on the ferry from Stanraer (Scotland) to Belfast (Northern Ireland).
	Approaching Belfast. My first impressions were that the port was fairly well developed including the infrastructure for handling goods and containers, so the place must be quite important from a trade point of view. The city itself in the background seemed to keep a lower profile (few high-rise landmarks, few big neon billboards or advertisements on top of buildings, etc). The weather was typical English.
	The most interesting thing about Belfast is the political situation. Since the British took control over Northern Ireland, unhappy contingents of Irish heritage have never put the issue to rest. Despite various broad political "solutions" and "agreements" between British and Irish elected "representatives", sometimes even with the involvement of US presidents, there has nonetheless never really been such a thing as final peace in Northern Ireland. This became very clear and evident when visiting the republican Irish parts of the city.
	The grafitti along Falls Road sends a message that is proud and still angry, and the paintings themselves are well organized and well made, even artistic.
	Aside from the Northern Ireland issue itself, the images and writings on the wall also send a message of sympathy to other oppressed natives living under foreign occupation, such as the people of Palestine...
	...and the victims of US' war venture in Iraq.
	A Garden of Remembrance in the Falls district is dedicated to men of the IRA (Irish Republican Army) who lost their lives...
	...in their fight for Irish freedom.
	The most famous and admired legend of this quest is Bobby Sands, here honored on the side of the Sinn Fein building. Bobby Sands was an Irish volunteer of the Provisional IRA and an elected member of the UK parliament, who died while on hunger strike in May 1981, only 27 years old.
	My own assessment that the war in Northern Ireland is far from over - despite what the occasional politician might claim - I base not on the above pieces of incidental evidence (miscellaneous graffiti and remembrance monuments, which might be dismissed as tourist gimmicks and nostalgia), but on the topics and tone of many conversations that I picked up while spending some time in different pubs in the upper part of Falls Road. Many people here are still very frustrated. Many young people are inheriting the quest and the cause from stories told by previous generations. My assessment is that this corner of the world will not be fully calm and find final peace before Northern Ireland has reunited with the rest of Ireland.
	Downtown Belfast. Not much to write home about, really.
	Setting out west across Ireland - the green island - via Enniskillen, Sligo and Ballina.
	The town of Westport was pretty neat, a good resting place if it wasn't for all tourists who jammed streets and shops alike, mainly teenagers and young students. Where did they all come from?
	Young girl with red hair, fair and freckled skin and a green t-shirt looking after the green windows at the shop with a big green sign above. I think I must be in Ireland, most definitely.
	Various guidebooks describe Connemara, along road 59 toward Galway, as a very dramatic and scenic landscape. Well, it was fine but certainly overrated. Seen more drama in dozens upon dozens of other places elsewhere.
	The Cliffs of Moher southwest of Galway, however, actually do live up to the hype. Mother Nature, in the form of the Atlantic, is slowly eating into the vertical wall on the western edge of the green island, cliffs made of layers of Namurian shale and sandstone more than 300 million years ago.
	It's grand both in size and effect, but then it is also one of Ireland's main tourist attractions with about one million visitors per year. This day in July tourists were arriving by the busloads in a steady neverending stream. Both parking fees, entrance fees and the prices of everything from food to little green souvenirs, are also as steep as the cliffs.
	A room with a view. This one is called "O Brien's Tower" and was built in 1835, and marks the highest point of the cliffs, 214 meters.
	The cliffedge is untrustworthy and unpredictable, and for most part there is no security fence or similar.
	European politicians have long pointed out that many European students lack proper language skills. The politicians believe that an understanding of written and spoken foreign languages - or their own language for that matter - will help young Europeans live longer and more prosperous lives.
	On the edge.
	Relaxing in the green high above the big blue.
	The journey continued to Limerick, Ireland's fifth largest city (with Ireland here of course also including Northern Ireland). Limerick is most famous for having given name to a five-line rhyming poem, often with a witty and rather suggestive twist. Well, here's an example (retrieved from the net, I didn't write it myself) that passes my censorship for this web page; "There once was a man named Dave Who kept a dead whore in a cave She had only one tit And smelled worse than shit But think of the money Dave saved"
	Following this shining example of fine art and eloquent literature above, let's go to church. The picture left is from St Mary's Cathedral, founded in 1168, i e the greater part of this building was 840 years old by the time of RT 2008. The cathedral has been built on a former Viking meeting place, the Vikings' most westerly European stronghold.
	Old bridges and castles also seem to be well looked after in Ireland, just like in Britain, although sometimes preserving the enormous amounts of cultural heritage in these two countries is a losing game against time with ever-escalating repair works and spiraling costs, as both increasing air pollution and other degenerating factors take their toll.
	Modern residential and commercial developments along River Shannon.
	Ireland, despite its economic progress in the 2000s (up to the financial meltdown unfolding at the time of this roadtrip), has been a large net recipient of cash from various EU development funds. In my view, the Ireland that I saw in the summer of 2008 didn't seem particularly poor nor disadvantaged. The potato famine is over, no discussion. Nonetheless there were plenty of signs across the country advertising that EU (i e taxpayers in other EU countries) had bankrolled many of these projects. Ireland appeared at the time of this roadtrip visit far from being in any great need of this money. Such observations and conclusions are rather annoying. The EU internal aid system is either completely flawed, or otherwise Irish politicians must be much better than anyone else at filling in the financial aid application forms and navigating through the Brussels bureaucracy.
	It's a long way to Tipperary. Although once there, one realizes that a second visit is unnecessary, ever. Unexciting place. The famous song about this town was written in 1912 and became a popular marching song among soldier troops during World War I. The song allegedly came about as the result of a 5 shilling bet.
	In Ireland, the funny little tag name "bally" occurs very frequently among small towns and villages. Here we have places called Ballyanders (indeed!), Ballylooby, Ballyporeen, Ballymacarberry, Ballymack, Ballypatrick, Ballymurphy, Ballywilliam, Ballyroebuck, Ballycotton, Ballymoney, Ballydesmond, Ballyduff, Ballyhooly, and Stradbally. Plus fifty more in my map index pages.
	Family ready for a day on the beach.
	Some sand and cliff beaches in southeastern Ireland are quite okay and not overly crowded.
	Going for a swim. There were also a few surfers around even though the waves were quite timid.
	Small lighthouse near the southeastern tip by Rosslare.
	Another small lighthouse on the wavebreaking pier of Fishguard the following morning, with some Welsh hills behind.
	The stone village of Dolgellau in Gwynedd in Wales...
	...where time goes by more slowly than in London.
	People relaxing with a drink or a newspaper outside the main hotel in town.
	The Welsh countryside, such as the Snowdonia national park, offered very pleasant driving.
	Less congested and less exploited than many other places on these two islands. But this roadtrip would soon come to an end.
	In Liverpool I spent a day in different museums, such as International Slavery Museum, Merseyside Maritime Museum and the World Museum. Most of these didn't live up to the guidebook hype by a mile, but it was the one where my expectations were the lowest which offered the best experience, namely the Beatles Museum at the Albert Dock. It was solid both in terms of content and creative presentation from the very beginning to present day, and an emotional ending in a room with only a white grand piano and a pair of yellow-stained round glasses on top, with Imagine playing in the background.
	And here's the ferry, across the Mersey...
	...with of course that signature tune playing every time people get on and off. In other words, the Mersey ferry has become a tourist trap. The people behind this ferry gimmick have driven the whole thing close to overkill, especially as the recorded voice and commentary on the ferry ride rapidly loses all credibility with sensationalism and superlatives piled on top of each other, including statements that Liverpool's skyline is among the most impressive and grandiose in the world. Sure.
	Young English tourists riding the ferry.
	Coincidentally, in 2008 Liverpool was EU's own little "cultural capital of the year". EU bureaucrats have a strange liking for nonsense projects like that. The symbol or mascot for this year-long event was a so-called "banana dog", a curious cross-over, painted in bright colors and placed on display all over town. Some perhaps see one or even two points with this banana (one on each side). Personally I see no point at all with this particular type of forced "culture" gobbledygook. A bullshit initiative and a complete waste of British and EU taxpayers' money.
	No visit to Liverpool would be complete without at least a stroll down Mathew Street, where the Cavern club still is.
	Sitting on the stage where it all started for the Fab Four almost 50 years earlier, and where my RT 2008 now ends. Three hours to the flight home from the John Lennon International Airport just outside his own home town. Curtain.