The West's Awake
by Cormac MacConnellRSS 
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Maura tells me he is down in John B. Keane's pub for one of the pub theater nights there, feeds me with a mighty fry and all the Kerry news, and releases me into the evening again.
The aura and spirit of John B. still strongly inhabits Kerry's most famous pub. It hits between the eyes as you enter, and the entertainment is as varied and rich as Keane's own work.
I've been up there more than 20 times, maybe 30, always in the line of reporting duties for newspapers and magazines now long gone, and it is my firm intent to climb the holy mountain again.
I put on my boots and take my pilgrim's staff and put Ciara's leather hat on my head and start off through the afternoon crowds with a light heart and step. There are thousands gathering and climbing, just like always. Nothing has changed at all.
