Well, the White Stripes rocked. Literally and metaphorically. Jack has a cute little 'tash on aswell, which somehow lends him a certain sleaziness reminsicent of a nineteenth century opium dealer. Very appealing, I assure you. I was right up the front, just behind the little seven stone girls they line the barricades with so the security guards can pick them up and carry them off to their evil security truck for 'interrogations'. Well, that's what I think happens. I have an over-active imagination.
Music sounds really cool outside. It's like...louder. And beer tastes much better outside too. Its like...wetter. It's embarrassing how many pathetic people from my UCD English class were sitting around at Marlay Park being vile and hippyish. And yes, they were actually sitting in the mud, rubbing their vile little goatees and pawing their poncho-clad girlfriends. Ick, ick.
In other news, the Rose of Tralee competition concluded its festivities for 2004 last night. I had the good fortune of happening upon a few of the lovelies on Monday's show and was forced to swiftly flee the room to empty my stomach contents. One particularly obnoxious rose trilled delightedly on her joy at being a primary school teacher, her love of gaelic football, and her spooky beyond-the-grave connection with her dead mother before launching into a rendition of I'm just a girl who can't say no so camp it surely had Twink rolling in her grave (what do you mean she's not dead? She looks it.)
As I was otherwise engaged last night, I sadly missed the awards ceremony but I rushed excitedly into work this morning to see the papers and discover the lucky winner. Imagine my horror when little Ms Perky from Kilkenny, the aforementioned twit whose interview I had somehow managed to see on Monday, grinned and blushed smugly from the front of the Independent. How is this possible, I ask. I spent many moments scoffing the twit's chances on Monday, had the rest of the roses really been that bad? I am truly baffled. I should enter next year. I will work on getting Seven Nation Army on the tin whistle up to Tralee 'talent' standards.