Earning his stripes

Dear Diary,

Only one more sleep before my flight back home.
It has been a long 5 days. 
I know now why my great great grandfather emigrated to North Carolina. 
You can barely hear these people. They do not speak. They mumble. Or mutter. And they say some really weird things. The guy at the reception desk this morning told me to mind the sun, that it could split stones. It's not even that warm. He then winked at me. I wonder if he is one of those homosexual guys. 
They don't speak loud, and they speak weird, but my sweet lord do they drink. There is no having a Bud Light or two with your friends while watching the baseball. They EAT their beer. They take huge bites in those very big glasses, and in three bites, it's all gone! 
And they don't have baseball!!! 
They have some sort of martial art with ancestral sticks.And a ball, from time to time. Curling I think it's called. And they run around with fierce gusto swinging their sticks.
And after that they all cram into pubs and eat a lot of pints. A lot.
But they are overall quite nice. They laugh a lot while they eat their pints. And when I say that I am from North Carolina, they say "top o' the morning to ya" and wink and then fall around laughing. 
They seem quite nice. From what I can understand. But they speak very low and they mutter a lot. 
The rain was refreshing and nice on the first two days, but I am not sure if I would like it in the long run, like, say, 10 days. 
Only one more sleep and one more full Irish breakfast. 
Their bacon is not crispy. And they call it rashers.
I miss home. 
It was nice. For a bit. 
But I miss home.

I miss you, sweet North Carolina.