Is there any better place for an EU-subsidised arts festival than Galway?

I was still digesting my delicious breakfast (kippers, poached eggs and soda bread — all local) when the sad news reached our party of freeloaders (sorry, I mean distinguished international journalists): a force ten gale was blowing in, so tonight’s opening ceremony on the headland by the harbour had been cancelled. ‘Ah well, let’s go and get drunk,’ said my new friend Shane. So we did.

Galway is this year’s European Capital of Culture and, while Brexiteers may welcome their liberation from this perennial EU shindig, if you’re going to stage a state–subsidised arts festival anywhere then Ireland’s liveliest little city is probably the best place, despite the frequently filthy weather. There are all kinds of arty events all through the year, but the main attraction is Galway itself and the joyful people who inhabit it.

We’d driven here from Shannon Airport, the long way round through Connemara — that beautiful, barren wilderness between Galway and the fierce Atlantic. We stopped in Cong, a pretty village renowned as the setting for the John Wayne film The Quiet Man, but I was more impressed by its ruined abbey — a mute reminder of its rich heritage and troubled Anglo-Irish history.

We spent the night at Glenlo Abbey, a grand old stately home on the green edge of Galway, now a plush hotel. The restaurant was in an antique train carriage, stranded in the gardens like a steamship run aground. This carriage was originally part of the Orient Express, and latterly the set for Sidney Lumet’s splendid movie Murder on the Orient Express, with Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot. I asked the waiter why it had ended up here, of all places. No particular reason, he replied — the previous owner bought it and now he’s dead so it’s too late to ask him.