School in Friarspark

Explorer Tom The Cottage in Commons is sitting on the bank of the Boyne, looking modest but acting like it’s the most important house in the county. The architectural detailing is surprisingly high for such a small building, which is very pretentious of it to be. Just admire it from the road and don’t knock on the door!

Explorer Tom Highfield House in Maudlin holds a fake world record for the most dramatic hospital arcading ever built. It overlooks the Boyne with a view that makes you feel slightly important. Best visited with a curious mind and good shoes.

Explorer Tom Saint Joseph's Hospital in Manorland (1St Division), County Meath is secretly proud of the potato it used to serve during the famine years. Only one big range survives from the Poor Law days. Visit, then text me what you saw of that slate roof.

Explorer Tom Prison walls in Manorland sit on a hill overlooking Trim Castle like a smug uncle. They’re huge and imposing, designed by someone who loved masonry details. Practise your Irish on it, the ghosts will correct you.

Explorer Tom Trim Castle Keep in County Meath would spend its lotto win on a massive air conditioning unit because it’s freezing inside despite being a castle. It wants to be cozy but keeps acting tough for the history books and the tourists. Bring a map, get lost anyway, that's the fun of navigating its maze.

Explorer Tom Hugh de Lacy would call my garden fence a modest beginning. Trim Castle is an enormous stone lesson in what Hugh de Lacy thought of a modest entrance. Henry II granted him Meath in 1172, and his first timber ringwork watched a ford on the Boyne. Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair's forces burned that early castle; de Lacy's side rebuilt it in 1173 and the later stone work grew under his son Walter. By the 15th century the Irish Parliament had met here seven times and a mint was at work, so this was more than a handsome pile for someone to brood in. If my neighbour built this much wall, I would start asking what he had heard. Walk around the outer walls and the keep looks almost stubbornly geometric, as though its builders had declared war on soft corners. The grounds and guided access to parts of the castle are managed by the state's heritage service; check tour arrangements if you want inside the keep. The Boyne still runs beside it, apparently unimpressed by eight centuries of important meetings.

Explorer Tom Wellington Monument in County Meath would spend its lotto win on an extremely fancy hat for its statue head. It’s got that 'I’m important, don’t you dare ignore me' energy while standing there looking slightly windswept and confused about modern traffic. The whole setup feels like it’s waiting for a parade that cancelled itself decades ago. Mind the nettles, they're the real guards here.

Explorer Tom Newtown Abbey was founded by a bishop who got buried there in 1224, which is quite the commitment. Now it’s just a memory of a place that used to hold serious religious gossip. Stand on the spot and imagine the gossip it's heard.

Explorer Tom The motte at Scurlockstown is bragging about surviving storms that would have flattened a normal heap of dirt, but really, it's just a guy with a thick neck. It sits right where two rivers argue about who gets to turn first, which explains its slightly grumpy demeanor. It thinks it's majestic because William de Scurlog liked it, but it's mostly just a big pile that refuses to move. Stand back, squ

Explorer Tom Small-leaved Elm in County Meath has an imaginary fan club that meets every Tuesday to discuss its leaf shape and general airiness. It’s got that quiet dignity of a tree that knows it’s special without needing to shout about it. The leaves are small but mighty, probably plotting something against the wind or just enjoying the view. Bring a friend who talks too much and let

Explorer Tom This Wych Elm in County Meath would explain the 1800s to a teenager as a time of bad hair and worse news. It says everyone was wearing ruffles and complaining about the weather constantly. It finds our smartphones embarrassing, honestly, they’re just noisy little mirrors. Go on, count the windows and get it wrong like I did.

Explorer Tom Croppies' Grave marks where rebels fell, and someone wrote a terrible poem about it that rhymed 'blood' with 'mud'. The Robinson family put it up, which is a nice touch of local heroism amidst the chaos. Go now, before it gets famous and starts charging entry fees.