Billy Keane: Moneygall is the village that found a president -- I just hope it never loses its charm and soul
There were green and black wellingtons hanging from hooks like sleeping bats. Biscuits and socks cosied up beside tins of pears and beans. Homemade jams and breads were matched up on the counter. And a cream guaranteed to cure mastitis. Harrods hasn't such a choice.
They sell rings too in the shop in Moneygall. Rings for lambs' tails.
It's a small country store. Friendly chat is part of the buying. Better by far than dealing with some listless superstore automaton of a young one, who only ever smiles at closing time on pay day.