And now I’m back in Edinburgh once again, following a less-than-traumatic plane journey back. I think me and flying are forming some kind of understanding, in that I’m slowly growing to absolutely loathe it, rather than be paralysed with fear by it. And that is one heck of an achievement, for me.
The huge and wonderful adventures that I’ve had at home may or may not be recounted here at some point soon, but tonight I am only fit to talk about the mini adventure myself and my sister had in the Laughter Lounge last Thursday.
We were happily sitting down before the show, having a chat and a couple of recreational drinks before the funny men came on stage to tell us their amusing tales. A couple came over, and sat down beside us, fixing us with maniacal grins. They were both wearing matching baseball caps, and had pearly white teeth and fabulously bright eyes. Our suspicions were immediately confirmed when, two minutes later, we knew their names, ages, holiday plans, the names of their children and which county in Ireland their descendants had come from. That’s right: they were American tourists.
One of the first things that asked us was about the general Irish opinion on the current US President, and his predecessor Clinton. Having just finished reading Stupid White Men by Michael Moore, we both let rip, with the backing of statistics and well founded arguments, about just what we thought of young Dubya. They sat back, and in that wonderful American way, nodded their understanding without telling us how wrong they thought we were. And then my sister and myself exchanged looks, glanced back at the couple, and asked if they were, by any chance, from Texas. Of course they were.
Once we got past that little glitch, they regaled us with tales of where they had already been around Ireland, and where they were still planning to go. They told us how thrilled they were to have been able to see some of the “real” Ireland, by planning their own routes and keeping off the tourist trail, while simultaneously telling us what it was like to kiss the Blarney Stone. We looked on at them both, all the while thinking how much they were also fitting perfectly in to the stereotype of the American Tourist, having come all the way over here to trace their ancestors, who they think left Donegal around 1580.
More about Dublin soon, and just how much it keeps changing every time I go back, but in the meantime, here’s some homework for you all to be getting on with –
Click here to help Shut Sellafield