Yesterday, we went to the Guinness(R) Storehouse to see where Guinness(R) is laid and hatched, and then we drank down our body weight in Guinness (R) while looking all around Dublin and thinking about Guinness(R) and Guinness(R) Guinness(R) Guinness(R).
The Storehouse is a tremendously entertaining place to be, particularly if you like Guinness(R) as much as we do, but even if you don't, by the time you've walked around the first two floors, you're so desperate for a pint you're willing to kill the person you arrived with in order to get near to a pint. The reason we're grinning right here is because we'd almost finished the tour at this stage (we're now Master Brewer's Honourary Apprentices - we're going to get the certificate to prove it and everything) and just behind us is the escalator that's about to bring us to the top floor where there are two pints - full pints, mark you, none of this half-assed half-pint nonsense - with our names on. Literally.
I did notice to my horror when we got there that a big fat American lady (and there isn't any other kind of American lady in Dublin over the holiday period) was drinking her Guinness(R) THROUGH A STRAW. I nearly punched her in the throat for having the bare-arsed nerve to do such a terrible thing in what is essentially the Mecca for all Irish alcoholics, but I was too busy getting myself wrapped around my pint that I didn't have time to down it all in one go AND beat her to death at the same time.