It was late evening when I left the holiday cottage. I needed to go for a ramble, to walk off the gourmet Shorthorn burger I’d had in Carron (in the Burren), washed down with two pints of Guinness. Any more Guinness and I wouldn’t be walking anywhere. Neither would I be driving (or doing U-turns) – I’d be in a heap, asleep.

I walked out the gate and soon came to a crossroads with a brown sign pointing to the Poulawack Cairn, which sounded interesting. The sign said it was half a kilometre, but even then I had my doubts – it is likely someone had tampered with the sign.