After that, well, it was all we could do but drink. "God Save the Queen" sung in Croke Park. 43-13 to Ireland. I even drank Guinness in my patriotic fervour. But where did we end up carousing? In Eastern Europe. See, we started out in Keatings. Then the Hop House. O'Connell street was mental, crawling with little folk with big bellies in green jerseys, wrapped in tricolours and carrying foam hands and jester hats. Then we went to the Sackville Lounge where we met a self-confessed twat from Surrey. He even wore tweed. And then, well, after much meandering up and down the quays, we ended up at the Czech Inn.
Entering this particular establishment is a bit like rushing through platforms nine and ten to end up on three-quarters. It's a whole other world. As the only Irish people there, it was buzzingly like we were on our holidays. Dancing strange feet-twisting dances to the beat of a red-jumpered drummer (special mention to this tiny stick-wielding rhythm master with his carefully parted hair and expression of faint surprise every time they made contact with the drumskin). Drinking Czech beer and eating Czech crisps and chatting to George and Joseph (not their real names - the English equivalent of their real names because we were having such a hard time pronouncing their real names after so much Czech beer). Boy those lads can drink. And do. They even put us Irish to shame.
So there we were. On our holidays in the mini Czech Republic. As all of Dublin was awash with all things Irish and green and comeallye, we managed to celebrate the historic moment by going abroad. Folks, it was quite a trip.
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6 comments:
An alternate way to past the celebrations. Confident it as better than Leggs! Was that your piece in The Times yesterday. Really good, well done.
Yep, 'twas me (says sheepishly). And Maradona (says proudly!). Thanks for that flirty. You going to be at the Irish blogger awards? Should I keep an eye out for the Nicole Kidman lookalike?
Came across your blogging exploits while getting a link to your Times piece to email to a friend of mine. We'd frequently discussed the tragedy of wonderful places for living so often being inconveniently foreign over a bottle of Quilmes or two - thought he'd get a kick out of some of the pictures you conjured up in your article, but your BA blog is a better read. I like your style! Good luck with the writing. And the repatriation.
Thanks Brendan. You back here now too?
Yep. Mine was only a brief sojourn out there, unlike some luckier folk. And my friend had no luck reading your blog after all - access blocked by his company's thought police! It's hardly subversive, but I guess it could dint his productivity...
Yay! I'm subversive - or at least, somebody's office thinks so. Now I'm feeling smugly accomplished, thank you.
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