Ah Bejesus! It's St Patrick's Weekend.The Latvian air hostess at the front of the plane is attempting to demonstrate what to do if we plummet into the Irish Sea and is being roundly ignored by the vacuous idiots who seem to be trying to out do each other with new levels of innane squaking. The loudest, predicatably, is sat directly behind me and is wearing massive wraparound sunglasses. It's worth pointing out it's 8.30 a.m, raining, on a RyanAir plane in Liverpool.
Despite me willing the plane to crash and take one for the human race we arrive in Dublin safe and sound.
Sandra's proposal in the Guardian newspaper on Feb 29th won us a one night stay at the Radisson - which we have had to take this weekend. The hotel is the poshest i have ever been in and even has a telly in the bath (i keep thinking i sound like barbara from the royle family every time i say this - however not as common as Andy G who's first thought was to get some cans in and watch Match of the Day in the bath).
However we can't hang around watching the telly in the bath all the day so we hit Temple Bar and start drinking. The first gold quote of the day when a guy shuffles up to the bar in the Temple Bar and asks for a hot chocolate. The bar tender shakes his head and then shouts to his mate "Who orders a Fookin hot chocolate in a pub?" while the bloke is still stood there in front of him.
There are suprisingly few Americans about (down to post 9/11 & the weak dollar a taxi driver tells us who also says that Yanks come out of the airport and are astonished to find people driving around in cars expecting to see horse drawn carts and young girls doing the riverdance). We only see one group asking why they don't serve guiness light.
No comments:
Post a Comment