County Wexford is bordered to the East by the Blackstairs Mountains and to the North by the Wicklow Mountains which rose unexpectedly, greeting us like a smiling BFG marking our progress as we rumbled South on the M11. Once off the M roads and into the winding roads of true rural Ireland, though much was the same: pristine pastel bungalows fields of cows and petrol stations advertising the soft Italian ice cream the sweet toothed Irish love so much, there is a notable difference between East and West. The West coast is still beautiful but more rugged, the coastline less attuned to sunbathing and the land less farmer friendly until you get down to Kerry, where the butter comes from. The West is definitely more hiking boots and back pack the hedgerows blushing with wild Fuchsia, where the East is more sandals and picnic basket, the hedgerows heavy with the glow of yellow gorse. The pace of life however, that pleasant amble that meanders in the direction of the close of business with thoughts of tea and cold Guiness at around 3.30, stretches from one coast to the other. That is perhaps with the exception of Dublin that sits like a Cosmopolitan, otherwordly visitor from another dimension stubbornly denying, according to a 2011 survey, even the most Irish of traits.