living out london: A little bit of Irish

What better way to spend a weekend than skipping across the Isle and indulging in a few pints of Guinness?

Last Friday two girlfriends and I boarded a late flight Aer Lingus-style en route to Dublin. Totally last minute and totally on the cheap (our return flights including taxes came to a grand total of £32!) we set out to party with the Irish and maybe see a castle or two.

We saw one, Dublin Castle. And walked around Trinity College – literally walked round it, snapped a few pics and then headed for the warmth of Messrrs Maguire pub (and some Guinness) overlooking O’Connell Bridge. Poor tourist effort, I know, but it was so cold! And while the cobblestone streets of Trinity are lovely, and the pubs on every corner with their coloured exteriors and array of flags are perfectly quaint, I have to say, that as far as a city goes, Dublin doesn’t do much for me.

I had been to Ireland years before with my family. For three months we hire-car’d our way through Europe – up from London, through Cheshire, Yorkshire and into Scotland and across the way to Ireland before hitting Germany, Italy and Slovenia. It was then I fell in love with England and the Isles. It was winter time and the countryside we drove through was shockingly green and lush, while the further north we went snow fell over medieval ruins. I dreamt of Robin Hood and King Arthur and pretended I was a maid in the royal house of Queen Elizabeth I (well, I was only twelve and we’d just studied the Tudor’s and Stuarts in year five history)… But this time, arriving at the airport and driving through the industrial area of south Dublin, there was less romance.

Venturing out to a club late Friday – early Saturday morning actually – I wasn’t entranced by the smell of urine and beer that coated the entranceway to The Village nightclub; and the prepubescent girls hovering outside, wearing next-to-nothing in 2-degree weather, didn’t make me reminisce old monarchs.

Instead, the best time was had come morning when our hosts (a group of four Canadian med students) prepared us a three-course hot breakfast complete with Canadian peanut butter – or as I like to call it, ‘liquid gold’. And while Saturday night was meant to be our big Irish-experience at the renowned Gogarty’s, instead we stayed in for yet more delectable-delights. There were nine of us around the dinner table and enough food for twenty. We ate and drank and laughed. Confessed our sins and acclaimed our trespasses. With one token Irish guest (complete with flaming red, curly hair, pale skin and a bright green cardigan) we enjoyed Dublin the girly way, and merry good time was had.