I hadn’t been to Connemara in more than 30 years. I was living in Madrid at the time and had been invited to a wedding in Leenaun, the village at the apex of Ireland’s only true live fjord, Killary Harbour in Co Galway. The sense of entering a mythical depiction of Ireland, wild, wet, desolate, dramatically beautiful and a wee bit Norwegian, following the long drive from hot, bright, central Spain, felt dreamlike.