26/06/2025
THE BALLAD OF THE BLUEBALLS AT LOUGH OWEL
At dusk they gather, bold and brash,
With steaming flasks and a thermal stash.
The Blue Balls crew, without a care,
Drop their drawers to the evening air.
Loch Owel lies still, a mirror of frost,
A tempting dare, whatever the cost.
First to speak is Vincent, sly—
With quips so sharp they'd cut the sky.
"Cold enough to make a polarbare cry,"
He smirks while dipping toes halfway.
Enda stands with eagle eyes,
Surveying clouds and changing skies.
“Storm's coming lads, I smell the rain—
If it hits mid-dip, we’re drenched in pain.”
He guards the shelter like it's gold,
A hero when the wind turns cold.
Then Derek climbs the diving board,
A fearless loon the loch adored.
With arms spread wide, he takes the leap,
A cannonball into waters deep.
He bursts back up with a mighty howl,
“Blue Balls forever!” his victory growl.
Now here comes Johnny,
With bottles clinking all about.
His home brew’s strong, a mystery blend,
They sip and shiver, world without end.
“One swig’ll warm your bones,” he grins,
“It’ll put hair on places—and melt your sins!”
Sean stands back with camera high,
A patient lens beneath the sky.
“Hold still lads—no belly to hide!
Smile through the shrinkage, freeze with pride.”
He snaps the shot, a timeless frame,
Proof they came—and braved the same.
And Damien’s there, phone in hand,
TEMU tabs open, bold and grand.
“Thermal socks? Or a sauna hat?
Bluetooth towels? I’m on top of that.”
He takes the orders, types them in,
Sourcing gear for frostbit skin.
“Delivery’s late? Blame customs, boys—
But cheap as chips—don’t mind the noise.”
Then Terry steps up with a silent nod,
A man possessed, a cold sea god.
“Five hundred out, and back again—
No wetsuit, lads, I feel no pain.”
He cuts through ice with steady grace,
A polar knight in an endless race.
The loch looks on with frozen awe,
At the man who swims by nature’s law.
And Martin rolls in at the end of day,
Doors flung wide in his usual way.
Flasks, dry towels, a
The van's a palace with central air.
"Martin's the man!" they gladly cheer,
"The kettle's on and the gangs all here!"
Then the other Sean, with a devilish grin,
Climbs the rocks and takes a spin.
A flip so wild, a perfect arc—
He lands with splash, and leaves his mark.
They all look on with puzzled face,
"Why’d he do that?"—but still, it's ace.
He shrugs, he laughs, just living high—
Some questions, lads, don’t need a why.
And Carl appears before his shift
With ten-hour nights ahead to bear,
He takes the plunge like he hasn’t a care.
"One quick dip, then off to graft,"
Then Geof pulls up with a checky grin,
In his camper van, with warmth within.
Anto with the other crew but he'll soon be back tail of new and all the crack
They laugh, they shiver, but never flee,
Bound by banter and bravery.
No wetsuits here, no fancy rules—
Just legends made in icy pools.
So raise a toast with flask in hand,
To the chilliest crew in all the land.
For friendship forged in freezing spray,
