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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

An incredibly important ritual that is observed every time I go back home to Dublin now is our trip to Whelans.

This time round, we only managed to do it the once, due to the fact that on New Year's Day (the morning after the wedding) I woke up convinced that I was dying, and not just of the hangover I quite rightly deserved.

I had been doing so well all through the wedding, pacing my drinks and making sure I was drinking water between every alcholic intake. I started with beer, moved on to wine, had some champagne, moved back to the beer, but even then we were doing so much dancing and talking and running about, along with having a huge wedding dinner, meant that I really didn't feel drunk at all at any stage during the night. Sure, I was dancing to songs I would never dance to, I had abandoned both my shoes and my pashmina quite early on into the night, and I was moshing in a dress that had no straps, therefore taking the terrible risk of possibly flashing my boobs at most of my relations (thankfully that didn't happen). However, all of this good work was very undone at 3am when the music finished and the lights came back up and me, He Who Only... and my cousin David sat down at a table and knocked back three pints of beer that didn't belong to us in under 30 seconds.

But as I was saying, I woke up on New Year's Day feeling like death had come to visit, and refused to accept that it was merely a hangover. And it wasn't - I had caught the cold that everyone in Ireland has been suffering from for the previous two weeks, and which is still rattling around me today.

Which is all leading to the fact that I am incredibly pleased that we managed to get to Whelans the very first evening we landed in Dublin, on the 30th, because when we were supposed to go this evening, I couldn't even begin to consider doing it. Which is a measure to how rough I'm feeling, because usually I'd give someone's right arm (not necessarily mine) to go there.

I love this bit of graffiti, found in the ladies loos at Whelans, which sums up a lot of my feelings for the city in which I was born. I particularly enjoy the jaunty use of the exclamation mark.


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