c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage!!!

Woo hoo - back from a splendiferous weekend in the land of the leprechaun and the beret. 'The beret' –  you ask? Mais oui! Forget the Irish - the French ruled Dublin this weekend. They were largeing it all over the shop taking over quaint Irish pubs, singing their loud and very droning rugger songs and proudly wearing their jaunty black berets and red basque scarves - Picasso stylee. I woke up with a start in the early hours thinking I'd been transported to New Orleans, as a 'mardi gras' style band marched through the streets. It was quite surreal and I was all for throwing on my clothes and running after them. AND I wasn't even squiffey! Ah - it was a raucous night to be sure and I'm sure there were a few thumping French heads the next day. But on the day of reckoning, despite being up first off, the frogs were no match for the might of the Shamrock. How glad we were...because on Saturday night, Grafton Street and surrounds was a heaving mass of smiling Irish eyes and laughter. The pubs were like the Northern Line in rush hour, except everyone was wearing Sure and no one was scowling!  And 'sacre bleu' - all was quiet on the French front. Despite me singing "c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage, c'est domage" to the tune of vindaloo na na - there was not a peep out of ze french! 

The highlights...? Definitely tasting lovely, lovely matured-twice Jameson's and quaffing...I mean sipping it. Definitely tasting that dark, creamy-headed Guinness and savouring it in the spectacularly scenic Gravity Bar, against a stunning backdrop of the Wicklow mountains. Looking out towards those gorgeous snow-capped peaks, I came over all 'Ryan's Daughter' and imagined standing on some mountain path being kissed so passionately that I became breathless with desire. Then before the onset of hypothermia, walking back, hand in hand, to some white-washed cottage with a peat fire burning and Irish stew bubbling on the stove and my man whisking me off upstairs to a big brass bed, with the drifting sound of the Chieftains in the background. Ah the romance of it all.... 

Let me tell you, there was nothing romantic about the strength of the euro...@@@@ me! I can't believe the cost of living...It's enough to make you take up Riverdancing! Needless to say though, we did pretty well on a budget - sniffing out 'off the beaten track' places to eat and drink. Like the marvellous local chipper with a long list of famous celebs who'd eaten there...David Beckham amongst them. Can't quite imagine skinny Victoria slumming it eating fat chips with garlic sauce out of a tray somehow though.

The verdict? Loved it, loved it, loved it! Wished we'd seen some proper Irish dancing and music but guess we'll have to go to the wilds for that. On a wistful note, I remember this traditional gaelic blessing from my childhood and family gatherings. "May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sunshine warm upon your face; the rain fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may Gold hold you in the palm of His Hand." So lovely girlies, thanks for de craic and a laugh a minute. Oh and Nat,  I'll be giving mock Irish language lessons every second Friday in the month!!! Slainte!