Cave Hill, Belfast

So, we had a few hours before the flight home, and TC wanted to see the castle, so enbussed we wound our way through Belfast North, until mid-suburbia the driver shouted CAAAAAAAAAAAAASTLE from down below, and we and two blonde German lasses walked up to the brown heritage sign marked the start of Cave Hill Country Park.

And we walked. And walked. And the concrete snaked round and round, until finally we saw it, a fairytale castle, new paint licks, unmarked by conflict.

Many cats there, Lord Cat Protector, in mosaics and hexagons, rubble statues.

Left bags and chose medium walk, take us up the hill to the Fort. Don't know why but faint disbelief always expressed on reading a walk duration. "It'll barely take half that." Upmost on our minds was the flight time home but we wanted to squeeze everything out of our last hours.

And what a walk. A steep slope but a well-turned path; over left shoulder, an increasing view of panoramic dock; you can never escape the filigreed City Hall, so naturally that put its eyes upon us; and many miles of blue and green. The path was pretty steep, though, and Teresa wore ballet slipper-types. These were ruined by the jaunt and later expelled.

It got pretty windy at the top. Over cattle grid and up to the Fort, a huge expanse of land below us; grey-haired hikers nimbly prancing; breathless views over acres, and awe; and then, corner eye, three lads tossing rubbish off the top. A rucksack was next and it flailed through the air. I had to admire their beside-drop stance though, as I couldn't get a metre from the edge without feeling my doom.

So, anyway, I navigated to get us back down, and really it was hopeless. The path soon ran out and we both arsed-ourselves downwards, fearful of dislodge and tumble. Bramble begat bramble, and the navigator was useless, we just hulked down a steep shingle. And got lost. And walked, and tripped a bit. Passed a ginger man and his woman, eating, bade us well, then I got up the lowest branch of the smallest tree I could find, and she took a photo.

And, somehow, back, the castle behind iron fence, which I ran to check had an exit - it had - we left the walk behind us, and the ginger man ate on.

Made the flight though, and found green Guinness Craic-type tat at the airport. I didn't buy.