This is how it all went wrong.
The group settled down for their drinks at the clearing in the woods, minus McKinney who entented himself early to think about girls and blogging. Much needed banter was had and an absolutely filthy rap pioneered on the road was perfected. Since no one tent was able to accommodate the whole contingent, it made perfect sense to try to adjust things so that Barry and Fitzy's faced into a sheltered nook. Attempts to shift it over caused it to collapse. This was particularly unfortunate given that Kaner and Tim had by now worked out that their "drummer" tent was designed with style rather than the average annual rainfall in the West of Ireland in mind.
All five therefore plumped for the uncomfortable yet dry option, and retired to Ronan's car. Kaner and Tim occupied the front seats; Fitzy and Sam slumped in the rear sides; and all 6'4'' of Barry went long dog down the middle, awakening every ten minutes or so throughout the night to alternate his extended leg. Meanwhile, Grennan and Ronan retired to their Dunnes Stores 3-man with McKinney, which proved better at keeping out water initially. And I must stress the "initially". The sensation of being soaked very gradually from the feet up is not one that we can recommend.
We were up early, needless to say, and packed up in a shower of horrible midges. Those in the car left it to stretch as those in the tent climbed in to ward off hypothermia. Drummer and Dunnes were left to stand in the clearing, a testament to the art of truely crap tent-making.
After that, we made surprisingly good time towards Gort, possibly because we were so glad to get shot of our campsite. Pausing only for a brief photo-op at the Galway border, we pushed on into Gort and picked up our bags at the local Garda station, where Ronan had dropped them before heading back to Dublin to reflect on how much he hated us all. We then discovered that Gort's high Brazilian population - leading to it being known to local racists as "Rio" - made it a pretty hopping, friendly little town, and that the Gallery Cafe on the main square didn't mind us lurching in and stinking the place up. Success.
Morale recovered as the pizzas arrived. Surviving the woods gave us the fairly logical belief that we could survive anything the Mission had to throw at us. Unfortunately, although eight walked into Gort, only six walked out. Fitzy, possibly the least motivated man alive, hopped on the bus to Galway and hence to Dublin, leaving the group dangerously light in off-the-cuff rapping skillz. Aoife joined him on the first leg to meet up with Laura and Smodge in Galway and await the arrival of the walkers the following day.
Undaunted, the six survivors tramped on to Ardrahan, found the nicest B&B in the world and lived to walk another day.
Distance Day 7: 30k approx
Theme of the Day: Redemption
Word of the Day: "Sorry"
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