Hello Everyone
I hope you are well .
Staying sober in Dublin is like staying dry in a lake. I have never been much of a beer drinker but and I am pleased to say that I would have made my Irish descendants proud. The ale, the lager, the Guinness, they are all good friends of mine now, and they are great blokes. Two pints, once a week, is usually all it takes. I spend an hour telling everybody what I think about pretty much everything and then find a quiet place to sleep and purr away peacefully until the morning.
I read this in a book - Did you know that in 1770, a Dublin theatre manager by the name of Daly accepted a wager that he could not introduce a new word into the language. He won the bet by having the letters Q-U-I-Z written on walls throughout the city, thereby guaranteeing that the new word became an instant topic of conversation.
We stayed for most of the time in a comfortable one star hotel in the middle of Dublin. Our host was a permanently drunk, overweight Irish man called PJ O’Boy (I shit you not) and one busy little Philippino wife who demanded cash up front and ran around like a maniac. We were offered a complimentary pint of Guinness on arrival from our generous host, but as it was only 7am, we kindly refused and left him to drink alone. By the look of him he must have been greeting for a good two hours.
U2 were in town, which was the main reason for our visit, and the people of Dublin spoke of little else. Every shop, restaurant, club, you name it, had U2 music coming out of every speaker. Buskers played the slow songs, clubs played the fast ones and the pubs played the hits. Our travel buddies, Vib and Auldie, spent the night with us, jumping from pub to pub, singing and drinking, drinking and singing. We met up with Niall Tuke, an old dear friend of mine from my rock-star years who has been living in Dublin for almost a decade. He broke the news that he was going to be a father so it was a night for much celebration. Unfortunately for him he had arrived 6 pints behind us so he wisely left early after realising that he could not get a response from me without me breaking into song. We caught up with him 3 days later in a much better state. Really great night - (Photo attached.) Simone was smashed (Photo Attached)
Friday was a slow start, no sign of PJ O’Boy or his wife but we were well looked after by a very pleasant cross-eyed manager. I think she must have had an eye in one of her nostrils because that was the only thing that was looking at me when she talked. I ate black and white pudding and my guts have never been the same. Hmmm, blood !
Me, Vib and Craig went on a walking history tour through Dublin, which Simone thought was a waste of money, so get this - she didn’t want to get lost by her self so she stuck a pair of head phones in her ears and walked 100 metres behind the tour group, bopping along to the local radio station(playing U2 no doubt). At one stage the tour lady ask the group to sprint around a corner and into a building because she suspected a strange woman was stalking us. Halfway through the tour Simone burst into the group to hand us coffees and bottles of water before disappearing behind a castle wall. She is truly an odd woman who has many virtues, none of which include
bending to conformity.
The U2 gig. I can’t tell you how incredible this was for me personally. I have seen them before, but to get so close to the stage in their home town on that weekend was the greatest musical moment of my life. One in six Irish people had tickets to the three shows and another four in six wanted to be there. I cannot describe it, it was indescribable. Even the constant abuse from a certain U2 bashing Beastie Boy fan, (Lets call him C Auld, No wait, lets call him Craig A) could not dampen the moment. It wouldn’t be so bad if he followed a real band, but the Beastie Boys?? Please !! 3 geeks who can’t play instruments jumping around in front of a guy spinning vinyl does not constitute a musical act. It is nothing you won’t see at any IT company Christmas party after the alcohol runs out. Grab a guitar, kick a DJ and ROCK !!!!!
Standing up for 9 hours at U2 after going on a 2 hour walking tour took its toll but we still managed to drag ourselves out of bed on Saturday to go on a bus tour, have lunch in a pub (that had won Pub-of-the Year two years running) and go to the Guinness factory. The Guinness factory was alright, I guess, but it wasn’t Willy Wonka’s Beer factory by any stretch of the imagination. One free beer? Why not just kill us.
We picked up a hire car for the last three days and got out of Dublin to explore. We visited Windmill lane (U2 studio, before heading south for an hour to eat fish and chips with Vib & Craig amongst the ruins of an ancient fort situated at the mouth of a natural bay in Wicklow. Later we watched a game of Hurling at a local pub before dropping our friends off at the airport and headed to the before mentioned Niall Tuke’s house to pay homage to his lovely, newly pregnant wife, Orla. She is a sports nut like Simone so they sat in front of the TV watching the rugby while Niall and I talked “Hollywood Gossip” in the kitchen.
On Monday we drove west to the legendary Cliffs of Moher via Limerick. The cliffs were spectacular and it gave me a chance to use my much loved tripod. I don’t trust strangers to take a good photo (photo attached). We got back to Dublin before nightfall and ate take-away Chinese at local sports oval while watched a brutal Irish game called Hurling. It is one of the best spectator sports I have ever seen. It’s a cross between AFL, Hockey, Cricket and Chainsaw Carving. I loved it. I managed to borrow a stick off one of the players and get a photo (attached).
On our last day I got the chance to delve deep into the ancient history of Ireland, driving up to the mist covered Druid site called the “Hill of Tara”. I walked the moors alone with my trusty pen and notepad, jotting down points of interest like the way the cows guarded the entrance like reincarnated sentinels, watching over the sacred lands, only to hear Simone break that spiritual moment by saying, “what are you writing nerd-boy” and chanting “egg-head likes his bookie-wook” when I got back in the car. I punished her by taking her to a 6,000 year old prehistoric site and forced her to go on a tour. We had scones and cream with strong coffee before quickly dropping into Slane castle, carefully driving around the “DO NOT ENTER – CLOSED – PRIVATE FUNCTION” signs to coast around the grounds of this beautiful building, before spinning the back wheels away from the screaming grounds man and onto the airport for our journey home.
My lasting memory of Ireland is the moment Simone and I sat on the local sports oval, eating our take away food as the sun set on a glorious sunny day, whilst a game of hurling and Gaelic football drew to a close. As we sat there a gentlemen, who was the spitting image of Ned Kelly, walked past us. He looked over at our little impromptu picnic, gave us a smile and a wink and said, “Tis a grand life we lead”. Yes it tis, Mr Bearded Irish Stranger, Yes it tis.
I dedicate this email to our fantastic hosts, Niall and Orla, to our fun lovin’ friends, Vib and Auldie and to the Irish government who have banned smoking in all pubs. Legends.
Mike
