Have you been in Dublin lately? I have. Yesterday. Me and my NBF Colette went up to go out with the girls for the end of their exams. Boy, was it great. It was all drunkenness and debauchery. And mooning. How I miss my student days. There's a load of these mad, bronze statues of hares up the middle of O'Connell street. Don't ask me why. Does anybody know? I feel I should have been informed. I dislike change.
For all you news-hungry kids out there, here's what I learned in the past 24 hours:
- The Liffey is all glugged up with grubby-looking rubber ducks. Who's going to clean that up, that's what I'd like to know.
- Nine Baby Guinness and a vodka tonic will set you back €54 in Flannerys. Seeing as we're dealing with Baby Guinness here, you still won't be drunk enough to forget the fact that you're in Flannerys.
- People from Wexford say 'He is so RAAAAHHHR!' when they see a good-looking man or 'That is so RAAAAAHHR!' when they find something cool. Wexford people = Weird. Hardly a breaking story.
- Bar stamps are still nigh-on impossible to wash off. Oh sure, they're all fun and coloured-y at 1am but try sauntering into Spar the next day to buy your hangover cure (Mine's hula hoops and lucozade. And sometimes just more vodka) and all it is is a garish reminder of what a dirty lush you are.
- Apparently, correct protocol for suddenly discovering your underwire has become detached from your bra is NOT to reach inside your dress and yank it out in the middle of a crowded bar. Who knew? I live and learn.
- Dublin people are good-looking people. When did that happen? Everywhere you look you see tanned and stylish people, walking around in their kicky little capris and work shorts. That's right, work shorts. We down in the sticks laughed work shorts off as a ridiculous trend, albeit nervously, but the Dubliners have taken work shorts to their good-looking breasts. Seriously though, the attractive people. They killed me. I come from a place where dressing up is putting flip flops and a vest on over your sunburn as you stump up from the beach for an ice cream. Now I need to crawl under something and die. And buy loads of pairs of capri pants and formal shorts.
Wow. Those were good. Real life lessons. Glad I managed to get them all out. Now I can get on to telling you all about the conversation I was fortunate enough to be party to yesterday.
NOREEN: So, did you see the O.C. the other night?
LUCY: No I did not. I don't watch that tosh. I was probably reading some huge book with a clever title you've never even heard of [Read: "Was probably drunk in some alleyway."].
MARIE: OMG! I only found out the other day that the O.C. stands for Orange County!
NOREEN: No way! Get out! I thought it stood for, like ... something-California.
MARIE: OMG, no! Orange County! 'Cos in America that's California's, like, nickname. 'Cos everyone who lives there is really tanned.
I can't tell you what was said next as I passed out at the sheer hilarity of the moment. Oh, joy. When I awoke Marie was sticking a fork in a socket. True story.