'One of the noblest views in the world...' In rain-splattered, flower-powered Westport you'll hear William Makepeace Thackeray's fulsome words intoned more often than the Rosary.

The much-feted town, nestling at the edge of majestic Clew Bay and overlooked by conical Croagh Patrick-that most holy of holy mountains-is as tiny as it is tidy, as cute as it is cosmopolitan. Westport is the Koh-i-Noor in Connaught's crown, a magnet not only for tourists but also writers, artists and musicians from all corners of the globe.

Tarry a while and you'll soon be ensorcelled by the friendly banter, cheerily painted houses, music-filled pubs and traditional shop-fronts. It's Ireland, as it ought to be. And it is here, a mere sling shot from the wild Atlantic, that Botox-the needle-propelled elixir of youth, the Finn McCool of facial treatments-is manufactured.

One way or another, Westport will get under your skin.