ONE OF the first things I did after moving to County Westmeath in the noughties was to write a note to my new neighbour, JP Donleavy
A short time later he rang me up. “Why don’t you pop around for some wine and cheese?” he generously offered.
A stern warning not to enter “without prior notice” hung on the corroded wrought iron gates at the entrance to Donleavy’s 180-acre estate.
It forewarned ominously of “roaming bulls, wolfhounds and high voltage electric fencing” waiting unwelcome visitors.
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