Beer (And Ireland!)

Contrary to popular belief (popular belief in this case being represented by the population of Dublin) I am not drunk in this photo. I spent the weekend in Ireland for St Patrick’s Day, which could only be described as… trashy. Not me, obviously, being the patron saint of sobriety, but for the people who came from all over the world (read: annoying Americans) to celebrate.

Lauren and I got a flight with Ryanair, a part airline, part public transport on a hot day that generally has £1 tickets all over Europe. We ran through the streets of London to the tube, knocking down old ladies, firemen and nuns (clearly three of the kindest subgroups around) to make our 9:45pm flight on Friday night. Two beers and fourty five minutes later, we landed.

Dublin is:

1. Nice.
2. Drunk.
3. Cold.

And not necessarily in that order. I tried a few of the local delicacies, which I found out is Guinness. That’s it. Having said that, if I had to pick one thing to be good at, it would be drinking Guinness. The stuff is rad! I also managed to watch rugby while drinking it, so next stop, I’m getting a girlfriend.

I did manage to drag everyone to an Irish gay bar (get it!?) because I wanted to know what an Irish accent sounded like. It’s a lot like a regular Irish accent, but camper. What was I expecting? But there was some kickass jazz and some awesome dancing and so on and so on.

In this photo, however, I am drunk.