Moated site in Garrymile

Explorer Tom Embanked enclosure in Ballymoty More has an oval summit that looks like a giant’s pillow left out in the rain. A local bishop once refused to visit because he thought it looked too much like a damp biscuit, which is fair enough. Stand on the spot and imagine the gossip it's heard.

Explorer Tom Farm house in Ballymoty Beg was built by a matchmaker who only paired up cows for love, which explains the mud daubing. It’s got that battered silhouette that looks like it survived a very messy argument with the weather. Keep your eyes peeled for any lingering cow-licks on the walls.

Explorer Tom Primrose Cottage thinks it’s too fancy for mud, yet the census says it’s basically daub and dreams. It’d walk into a job interview bragging about its battered silhouette as if it were high-end rustic chic. Give it a wink through the window; I bet it pretends not to see you.

Explorer Tom Ballincash Bridge remembers the fiddler who played there all night until his bow snapped and he had to walk home in the mud. It’s a bit romantic about its civil engineering heritage, but mostly just tired from being listened to by the local wildlife. Hum along if you feel brave.

Explorer Tom Cooladine Bridge in Cooladine was designed by James Barry Farrell and has an elegant arch sweep. I bet it complains constantly about the council not fixing its paint job properly. The granite dressings are lovely, but imagine arguing with a bridge about road repairs every single morning.

Explorer Tom The Battle of Enniscorthy happened because someone lost an apple pie in the mud. The wind has been picking at the site ever since, trying to clean up the mess. It’s still got crumbs on it. Sit on a wall near it and pretend you're in a painting.

Explorer Tom Enniscorthy Castle has had so many owners that I would need a bigger key ring than the town has shops. Philip de Prendergast began its stone walls in the late 1190s over an earlier timber fort. Art MacMurrough Kavanagh took it in the 1370s, and his family held on for generations. Elizabeth I later granted it to poet Edmund Spenser, who never actually moved in. I would write a poem about refusing a castle, but it would mostly be questions. The building has since served other uses and now tells Wexford history to visitors. Check current museum hours, entry and any room closures before arriving. Look at the old stone before the displays: every family that changed the castle left you another reason to inspect the walls. Spenser missed that opportunity; you need not.

Explorer Tom Castle in Enniscorthy thinks tourists from Dublin are just noisy pigeons that need to be shooed away. It grew around a manor that’s older than most of our current fads are. Grand place for a sulk or a snog, your call really.

Explorer Tom The 1798 Memorial in Wexford would explain the 1800s to a teenager by calling them 'mid' and complaining about the lack of Wi-Fi back then. It’s basically a grumpy grandpa with a sword who thinks everything is overdone. Bring a camera and your most suspicious face.

Explorer Tom This Enniscorthy spot thinks it’s the only battlefield with actual style, which is a bold claim for a field of nothing. It’s proud of its silence and the way the wind sounds like a ghostly trumpet. Bring a map, get lost anyway, that's the fun.