Escape to the country: Period farmhouse on 9.5 acres in rural Leitrim for €350,000
Address
:
Gubnaveagh, Aghacashel, Co Leitrim
Price
:
€350,000
Agent
:
REA Brady
View this property on MyHome.ie
This charming extended
farmhouse
in rural
Leitrim
looks as though it has been torn from the pages of a storybook. With the cut-stone walls visible from the exterior and throughout the interior of this home, it spoke to one of the owner's fascination with medieval knights and castles, he says.
The owners, speaking to The Irish Times from their home in Germany, bought this charming property in 2013 and they have
stayed here frequently
over the last 12 years, as have members of their family, and that is evident from the comfortable, characterful appearance of the home.
It is with heavy hearts that
they have now decided to sell it
as they are approaching their 80s and their children are too busy to spend much time at their Irish home. It is now on the market seeking €350,000 through
REA Brady
. It is being sold fully furnished, so a potential new owner could move straight in and make their own stamp on the home over time.
[
Meticulously restored Marino midterrace for €635,000
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Driveway
Gubnaveagh, Aghacashel, Co Leitrim
Gubnaveagh, Aghacashel, Co Leitrim
Gubnaveagh, Aghacashel, Co Leitrim
Gubnaveagh, Aghacashel, Co Leitrim
On an extensive 9½ acres surrounded by trees and rolling green hills, it was the landscape that was the main attraction for the owners. They had lived for a time in north Leitrim, so they were no stranger to the county's verdant terrain. They were also drawn to the tranquillity of the area and have been additionally charmed by those who live close by, saying they have always been extremely friendly and helpful.
READ MORE
Extending to 205sq m (2,206sq ft), the farmhouse has three bedrooms, two bathrooms and is C1 Ber rating – the owners added insulation when they moved in. Approached by a tarmacadam driveway and electric gates added by the owners, the striking property unfolds behind its red front door. You enter into the sittingroom where the open fire is one of the owners' favourite features, and you can imagine curling up in front of it with a book on a cold evening. This room opens out to an outdoor patio via French doors.
To the right of the sittingroom is a large bathroom with a shower and a free-standing bath to the front and a double bedroom to the rear. A spacious kitchen/livingroom sits on the opposite side of the property and has a wood-burning stove as well as a range cooker. Beyond that a utility room and the second double bedroom – with a feature cast-iron fireplace – completes the ground floor.
Accessed from a stairway in the sittingroom, the first floor is like a hotel suite with a spacious livingroom that is perfect for entertaining. It is set out with a dining and seating area and features a big window overlooking the grounds and an eye-catching timber ceiling. The main bedroom is also on this floor with a walk-in wardrobe and en suite shower room.
Sittingroom
Kitchen/livingroom
Landing
Upstairs seating area
Upstairs dining space
Main bedroom
Double bedroom
There is a substantial outbuilding where one of the owners stores tools and cuts firewood. This is a versatile space for a hobbyist or craftsman; it could be used as a workshop or artist's studio.
This rural idyll is about a 15-minute drive from Ballinamore town and 25 minutes from Carrick-on-Shannon. It is likely to attract prospective buyers looking for a turnkey period home on extensive landscaped grounds in Ireland's northwest.
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Irish Times
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‘He obviously decided that he'd wasted his life, focusing on career, marriage and family goals'
Sorcha tells me that I need to do something and obviously, I'm like, 'Er – as in?' Yeah, no, Angela – the wife of my brother slash half-brother – has been on the phone from the States and Sorcha is running out of excuses. I'm fixing breakfast for the boys when the dude eventually arrives downstairs in the company of a woman named Rowena, who wears leather trousers, has a smoker's cough and works – so she says – in, like, hospitality? She goes, 'I wouldn't say no to a coffee.' READ MORE And Sorcha's like, 'Well, if the walk of shame takes you through Dalkey village, I can recommend the Country Bake.' I love my wife, but – yeah, no – she can be colder than a witch's tit. Rowena, by the way, is the third random woman that Brett has brought home this week. 'So come on, tell us,' Sorcha goes – this is right in front of her, by the way – 'where did you meet this one?' It's Rowena who answers. 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Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
Ruby Eastwood: Why would anyone choose to live in a city as ridiculous as Dublin?
You hear stories about how people survive in this impossibly expensive city. Couples who stay in loveless relationships because they can't afford to separate. Strangers from Facebook groups sleeping in the same room. A bed rented by one person in the day and a different person at night. Tenants paying their landlords with sex . Artists squatting illegally in their studios. People sleeping in storage units. These stories are full of human ingenuity and degradation. They're really quite strange when you think about them properly. The strangest part is how common they've become. [ Ireland's rising rents: 'Our budget would have been €1,300 a month, there isn't even anything listed for that' Opens in new window ] About a year ago, my best friend in Dublin moved to Berlin , where he says it's still possible to be broke and live well. When he left his damp, windowless room near Connolly Station – which cost just under a thousand euros a month – there were people queuing for the privilege of being next. Now he lives in a sunlit attic for a fraction of the price, and drinks Fritz Colas and Berliner Pilsners on the rooftop. Every so often, during our calls, he tries to convince me to join him. His logic is hard to fault: Dublin is untenable. Unless you have private wealth or can stomach a corporate job, you resign yourself to chronic financial dread – the kind that squats over your life like Fuseli's goblin in the painting. At least in other expensive cities, such as New York or London, you can escape your overpriced room into a pulsing metropolis, with endless distractions and some of them free. In Dublin, all you can really do is go to the pub, and even that costs too much. The city is very small, and it seems to constrict as the years pass. You can't leave the house without seeing a face you know. 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Once, on Talbot Street, I saw a man with an arm in a cast get into a physical fight with a man on crutches. I like Dublin on the rare occasions when it snows. I like the hot, malty smell from the Guinness factory. I like the Liberties, where you can hear the quiet rush of subterranean rivers, and church bells, and horses' hooves. I like that ugly statue of Oscar Wilde with the pervert's smile. I even like the loud, sentimental music on Grafton Street, and the whiskey-soaked ballads streaming from the pubs in Temple Bar. The idea of leaving Dublin becomes more, not less, appealing as I become more entrenched here ... we can weather all sorts of adversity, but banal contentment is the real deadener Mainly, though, I like Dublin because I chose it. The first time I visited, I was 21. I had some half-baked but very attractive notion of what Ireland represented: something to do with resistance, with migration and nostalgia and alcoholism. I had a copy of Finnegans Wake and I think I got about three pages in on the bus ride into town before falling asleep. When I woke up, I scrambled off and left the book behind. I had oysters for lunch that day and pictured my whole life in the city. It felt just the right size to make mine. I've lived in bigger cities: Barcelona, where I grew up, and London, where I lived before coming here; and smaller, random places: Brighton, Siena. I've spoken to quite a few Dubliners who are desperate to move to other European cities and can't understand my decision to stay. There's a kind of faith involved in choosing a city. You respond to its atmosphere, its pace and texture, the way it opens up to you – or doesn't. Dublin, for all its flaws, felt like it might yield something if I stayed long enough. The beginning in a new place is always the hardest part: slow, bitty, full of doubts. I didn't know anyone. I'd been accepted into a master's programme but couldn't fund it and had to defer my place by a year. When my sublet ended, I had to return to London for a while because I couldn't find another room. I worked in bars and signed up with a temp agency that sent me on scattershot catering shifts around the city. The jobs were mostly tedious, but they offered a kind of education. I learned how the different bits of the city fit together, like a giant jigsaw. The glassy conference rooms down by the Quays. The Leopardstown racecourse, where West End men come on weekends to get extravagantly drunk. The grand Georgian hotels and restaurants, where they throw out so much good food it makes you want to cry. The methadone clinic at the end of the bus line where you hear the wildest conversations and sometimes get drawn in. [ Dublin: The 13th best city in the world ... supposedly Opens in new window ] It occurs to me that the difficulty of establishing yourself in a city confers a special kind of meaning on your relationship to it. Like in a toxic romance, if you can weather the lows, the highs are incredible. Who knows – maybe the expensiveness and impossibility of a place like Dublin, far from being deterrents, actually deepen its appeal, the way we fetishise designer handbags but never their identical fakes. I've always had this wrong-headed idea that the value of something is revealed by the sting of its attendant sacrifice. Gradually, my life in Dublin took on more solidity. I was lucky enough to receive a university grant. I met people. I signed a lease. I moved in with a friend and we painted all the walls fresh white. She bought velvet floral curtains in pastel colours and hung them in the livingroom. I found a few prints in charity shops. I got a Persian carpet from a lady in Blackrock Market. A friend gave me a desk she no longer needed. Sometimes the city sends you little signs of progress. The quiet, stoical man in the corner shop at the end of my road has started calling me 'honey', and occasionally smiles. I have a friend's spare keys on my keyring. I know the name of my neighbour's dog. I know which cobbler to go to for the best deal. Ruby Eastwood Still, there are days when I fantasise about leaving. It would be nice to buy lunch in a cafe without feeling frivolous. It would be wonderful not to feel like I'm stuck in a recurring nightmare every time rent comes around. Oddly, the idea of leaving Dublin becomes more, not less, appealing as I become more entrenched here. Maybe that's no coincidence. To return to the toxic romance analogy: we can weather all sorts of adversity, but banal contentment is the real deadener. Recently, I spoke to a friend in London who's moving to Iowa City for a master of fine arts degree. He told me he's spent hours on Google Maps, exploring the place through Street View. The images all seem to have been captured on sunny days – it looks green and beautiful, full of classic American wood-frame houses. He's begun to associate the town with Iowa Dream by Arthur Russell, all melodic guitar lines and soft lyrics. The self he pictured living there was different from the one he knows in London: less anxious, more social, content to spend long afternoons drifting around and hanging out with friends. [ Trevor White: I love Dublin. But there's no point in pretending it's a great small city Opens in new window ] I also indulge in this kind of cartographic dreaming. I explore prospective cities on Street View: Beirut, Paris, Berlin. It's a surreal activity. You pick a spot on the map and drag yourself along, imagining a parallel life. Sometimes, from one click to the next, the sun disappears and rain slicks the tarmac. Figures with blurred faces vanish or are replaced by others in different clothes further down the road. You realise the map is stitched together from footage taken on different days, in different moods. Another thing my friend hinted at stayed with me: that emigration can be indistinguishable from escapism. When I imagine myself in another city, I don't picture myself as I am now, but a physically and intellectually tweaked version. In Paris, I'm gaunt with a perfect bob; I smoke straights and read Lacan for pleasure. In Beirut, I am somehow fluent in Arabic; I drink less; I am sharper and more spiritual. I study ancient manuscripts. In Berlin, I am reunited with my best friend and we live together like Robert Mapplethorpe and Patti Smith before it all fell apart, looking cool and making great art. The fantasy isn't really about the new city. It's about becoming a new person. [ Emer McLysaght: Five lessons Dublin can learn from Zurich Opens in new window ] There's a way of reading this that feels a little bleak. You could say it reflects a kind of ambient self-disgust, or an inability to accept life as it is. A symptom of being stuck in the wheel of samsara: trapped in a cycle of craving and disappointment, forever projecting some improved self just over the horizon, never quite admitting that the old self follows you everywhere. There's truth in that, but it's not the whole story. There's another, more generous way to see it. Maybe it isn't escapism, but a kind of unconscious recognition that we are always in the process of becoming. Cities aren't just stages on which our lives play out. They are the biggest collaborators. They shape how we speak, how we move, how we think. They alter our trajectories. When you choose to stay in a place, you're submitting to its influence. To live in a city is to enter into a kind of contract. You agree to spend your time, your energy, and your labour in its service. In return, it promises transformation, but on its own terms. Like the enchanted gift in a fairy tale, the city will change you in ways you can't predict, and not all of them will be kind. The point is you don't get to choose. It's a gamble. Is it one worth taking? Ruby Eastwood is a writer living in Dublin
Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
Miriam Lord's week: Influencer Richie Herlihy's foul-mouthed review of Dáil restaurant leaves a bad taste
The Dáil's Regional Independent Group has lodged a complaint to the Ceann Comhairle and the Houses of the Oireachtas Commission after a social media influencer posted a foul-mouthed and scathing review of the meal he was served in the Dáil members' restaurant while there as the guest of an Independent Ireland TD. Cork-based content creator Richie Herlihy, who robustly reviews spice boxes and other takeaway favourites for his online platforms, visited Leinster House a month ago on the invitation of Cork North Central TD, Ken O'Flynn. On the day, Deputy O'Flynn told the Dáil his friend, who also runs a food truck, 'has the best battered sausage in Cork'. After his visit, the comedian/influencer uploaded a video on Facebook , TikTok and Instagram. The visit also featured on Independent Ireland's social media feeds. READ MORE Richie began by giving a plug to the menswear shop in Cork where he picked his new suit for the occasion. And he said there was 10 per cent off everything in the shop for his followers (126,000 and counting on TikTok and 85,000 on Facebook). Then he meets Ken 'the legend himself', who is seen showing him around the place. He loved that, as he also loved the 'as creamy as they f***in' get' pints served in the bar. He didn't like the food, though. Taking photographs and videos without permission is prohibited in the public areas of Leinster House, including the bars and restaurants. There are strict rules around this, although in recent years, as everyone has a mobile phone, an unspoken tolerance has developed for people taking discreet pictures for personal use. Richie's visit, though, was something of a production. He set up a camera with a microphone attached on a tripod beside his table in the restaurant where he sat next to Ken O'Flynn. A friend simultaneously recorded the scene on his phone. The camera zoomed in on his chicken liver pate and an opinion was given. 'Like dog food' with 'burnt' toast, which was 'actually f***in' soggy' like it was 'cooked on a radiator'. As for his chicken curry. 'I'd say Micheál Martin cooked this yoke anyway because I've had better microwaved dinners out of Lidl. Absolute garbage, chicken tough as a badger's arse.' Could they not get it right 'with all the money [they] waste up in the f***in' Dáil . . . absolute sh***.' There were scenes of banter with Ken in his office, and as Richie walked the corridors he commented for his followers: 'There's a smell of vermin in here, vermin in the f**kin' hallways!'. Richie said Ken treated him like gold and all the TDs he met were very nice. He met none of the TDs he wouldn't get along with, but if he had, he would have given them a piece of his mind. As he was leaving, the content creator talked about having to wash the 'smell of vermin' out of his suit 'because of the other rats that are in there'. The video upset the hard-working catering staff in particular. The politicians were angered on their behalf and they weren't amused by the references to vermin either. The video was deleted soon afterwards but it is still doing the rounds on Kildare Street. Staffers are still very annoyed about it. This prompted the Regional Group to lodge a formal complaint and request that Deputy O'Flynn apologise to the catering staff. The group comprises the Lowry TDs, Danny Healy-Rae, Mattie McGrath, Carol Nolan and those junior ministers previously attached to the group. Minister of State Noel Grealish said he sat down and spoke to the staff because 'they were extremely upset' over the video. 'They take pride in their job and they take pride in the quality of the food they produce.' Meanwhile, Mattie McGrath took the issue to the floor of the Dáil on Wednesday when he called for an apology from Ken O'Flynn, who hosted the influencer. 'A deputy brought an outside person into this House with a tripod and camera. That person made appalling videos and denigrated the excellent staff of this House in the restaurant and the excellent cuisine on offer there,' he told the Dáil. Meanwhile, there will be no apology from Richie Herlihy. 'These politicians should have more on their plate with the state they have the country in, instead of this handbags' he told us on Friday. 'I told the truth that day, food I got was shocking, and some of them politicians including Mattie McGrath should be busy working on the real problems in this country. There have been threats to public safety from the people they have let into Ireland. Should be more on their agenda to be keeping the Irish people safe than to be attacking me about a bit of banter with a bit of truth in it!' We were unable to contact Deputy O'Flynn. Emotive fox-hunting issue attracted outsiders to the Dáil, some of whom arrived on all fours Rural based TDs Danny Healy-Rae and Independent Ireland's Michael Collins were criticised on Wednesday for trying to stop the passage of a Bill to ban fox hunting at its first stage. Ruth Coppinger of People Before Profit introduced it in the Dáil. She was gobsmacked when the two deputies spoke against it and Danny called for a vote. It is common practice for Bills to go through on the nod for a full debate at the next stage. The Dublin West TD said it was 'unprecedented' for a TD to try to prevent a Bill from reaching second stage and a full airing in the Dáil. 'I have introduced many controversial things, as have other TDs, and I have never stopped a Bill from going to second stage. I have been told to put on the big-girl pants and allow debate, but here we have a stifling of the freedom of debate and freedom of speech.' Coppinger urged the Government not to back the call to block it . But Healy-Rae said he got calls 'from every corner of Kerry' asking him 'to ensure that we stop this at the start'. Farmers are losing hens and lambs to foxes, he said. 'They're all over the place. They're coming into towns and villages. They're in and out of bins and they're everywhere. They've completely taken over the place.' Collins said foxes are a danger to young lambs and native birds, and controls are needed for 'pests' such as the fox and the hare. People Before Profit TD Ruth Coppinger during a protest against fox hunting on Tuesday. Photograph: Gráinne Ní Aodha/PA Wire 'We have to have some kind of controls, because the next thing is you'll be inside here looking to see if we can protect the rat or the mouse or whatever. And nobody wants to protect the human being, that's the problem here.' As he spoke, a strange noise, like an animal bleating, came from the public gallery where anti-blood sports campaigners were sitting. Collins, a TD for Cork South-West, stopped and looked around. He said: 'Sorry, is that a lamb or what?' Meanwhile, the following evening, as the Dáil voted on whether or not to scupper legislation to outlaw the killing of foxes for 'sport' without a full hearing, one interested observer was spotted sitting stock still at a back door around the services side of the building, as if listening intently. The Bill passed to the next stage. And the little Leinster House fox hurried away. This fox had a particular interest in proceedings at Leinster House Turning the page from one generation of political journalist to the next A big crowd escaped from Leinster House after the weekly voting bloc on Wednesday and streamed down the road towards Hodges Figgis bookshop for the launch of Gavan Reilly's latest opus: The Secret Life of Leinster House. Among the TDs was Government-supporting Independent Barry Heneghan, currently sans moustache, but that could change by next week. Barry was in good form, having just voted against the Government and in favour of Sinn Féin's pro-Palestine Bill seeking to prevent the Irish Central Bank from facilitating the sale of Israeli bonds in the European Union. Veteran newsman and political commentator Sean O'Rourke did the honours at the launch in a lengthy and entertaining speech on how political journalism has changed down through the years. He drew on his own early years with the Irish Press group, focusing on one particular day in the 1980s when the Evening Press released three editions. The early edition trumpeted that Fianna Fáil minister Séamus Brennan was 'on the brink' of resigning. The next edition, a couple of hours later, had 'pressure' mounting on Séamus to go. And the headline on the final, late evening edition, announced that Brennan was staying on. Gavan, whose wife Ciara is a daughter of former GAA president and Kilkenny hurling great Nicky Brennan, could not have spoken for as long as Sean even if he wanted to. Midway through his speech he realised he forgot to order the takeaway for the babysitter and wrapped things up pretty sharpish after that. 'This book will provide an important public service,' said our own Pat Leahy in his review last week. The Secret Life of Leinster House (published by Gill Books at €17.99) clips along at a fair pace and does a good job of explaining for outsiders and aspiring anoraks how the whole place does or doesn't work. Committee meetings could be blink-and-you-miss-it affairs if early indications are accurate The committees are cranking into action after a much-delayed start and a lot of fuss over who would get those coveted committee chairs. The lesser vice-chair prizes are now being decided. This week, the Health Committee voted on a deputy for Pádraig Rice, Social Democrats TD for Cork South-Central. There were two contenders: Fine Gael's Colm Burke from across the way in Cork North-Central and Martin Daly, Fianna Fáil TD for Roscommon-Galway. Colm was a minister of state at the Department of Health in the last government, while Martin, a first-time deputy, is a GP based in Galway and a former president of the Irish Medical Organisation. He is Fianna Fáil's spokesperson on health. Dr Daly, with his extensive experience in the medical world, was seen as favourite for the position. But Colm, who was an MEP and then a senator before he was elected to the Dáil in 2020, proved a very strong campaigner. He got the job, thanks to support from Sinn Féin. A thank-you, perhaps, for Colm signing a cross-party letter sent by Sinn Féin to the Minister for Housing urging him to release immediate funding for the Tenant in Situ Scheme in Cork city. The scheme allows councils to buy rental properties when landlords put them on the market. Colm was the only Government TD to sign the letter. Timing will be a major bone of contention at forthcoming committee meetings. In its desire to please everyone and come up with all sorts of new committees on all sorts of subjects, the time available for sittings has been truncated. Too many com-mit-tees and not enough meeting rooms or staff to cope. This explains why the much-anticipated meeting of RTÉ and the Media Committee was conducted at a breakneck pace by chairman Alan Kelly. They could have gone on for hours, but in a lucky break for RTÉ, this wasn't possible. He had to be out of the room after 2½ hours — and that included their private session — to make way for the daintily titled Select Committee on Finance, Public Expenditure, Public Service Reform, Digitalisation, and Taoiseach.
