A cow jam. A common occurence in the Mourne Mountains. We followed thislot for a mile or two at cow pace-no chance of getting past. The farmer's two pastures were miles apart. He was in no hurry. Thank goodness we were n't. The only acknowledgement of our Borders like patience was a sullen back and a surly nod. Strangers not welcome here and why should they be-blocking the roads with their filthy cars.