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Bray| Coastal resort in County Wicklow, Republic of Ireland; population (2002) 26,200. Bray is the gateway to Wicklow and the surrounding area, and tourism is the main industry. The National Aquarium is located here and there are golf courses near the town. |
| One of the oldest seaside resorts in Ireland, Bray was largely developed under William Dargan, a railway entrepreneur, during the 19th century. Since the 1960s the town has expanded rapidly, partly as a commuter town for Dublin. |
| Leopardstown racecourse is 10 km/6 mi from Bray. Also nearby is the wooded Glen of Dargle, a valley traversed by an aqueduct carrying water from Vartry Reservoir. There is a fine view from Bray Head (241 m/790 ft). Shay Elliot, the first Irish cyclist to wear the ‘yellow jersey’ in the 1963 Tour de France, was born here. |
Bray| Village in southern England; population (2001) ward 7,000; parish 8,500. It is situated on the left bank of the River Thames, 3 km/2 mi southeast of Maidenhead. The village has a number of timber-framed and Georgian houses. The bridge here was designed by Brunel. The village is mentioned in the popular 18th-century song, ‘The Vicar of Bray’. |
| The parish church has a 15th-century lych-gate. Jesus Hospital, a group of almshouses, was built in 1627. Ockwells Manor, a 15th-century manor house, lies 3 km/2 mi to the southwest of Bray. |
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| Blending Slayer-like riffs and brass knuckles attitude of New York hardcore with the twang of bluegrass, Uncle Fucker--Zaidman (aka Slick Dick Grizzly), fiddler Katy Cox (aka KT Crusha), banjo player Jack Ward, bassist Snickkas Skwire, and a drummer named Freeball--is like watching the cast of The Young Ones on an episode of Hee-Haw or, conversely, like a square dance for the Tompkins Square Park set. John Henry Faulk was a presence not to be ignored in Texas during the ten years I lived there (1970-1980), sittin's up in Madisonville plotting against the strip miners, flyin' off to Nashville every so often to tape a few months' worth of Hee-Haw, comin' down to Austin and waxing enthusiastic about something or other on the second-story front porch of The Texas Observer and the Texas Civil Liberties Union. Patrick finally figures out that he's been tricked and, with some slick talk of his own, one-ups his greedy neighbor, leaving him rubbing fifty-dollar "transmogrification potion" on his pumpkins and braying hee-haw at the top of his lungs. |