A h-aon, a dhà, a trì, a ceathar déag

Warning: sweeping generalisations ahead.

Paris looms, but first we leave for Dublin in the morning. How many times have I been? At least once, often twice and sometimes three times every year over the last twenty years. I only skipped 3 years out of 20. So let's say that evens out to forty trips to Ireland ranging from two days to a month. To say I know the place well is probably an understatement. I'm an expert, me.

The biggest difference between Paris an Dublin is... the men. My main reason for loathing Paris is its agressive, lip clacking, tongue smacking, disgusting male population. I know some women get a kick out of all the attention, but I really don't. The fact that I was sexually assaulted by a shop manager in the city once doesn't help. That wouldn't happen now in Dublin, it wouldn't. Irish men are funny, well mannered and never blatant. Their flirting is innocent and their intentions mostly good. (Because the wife wouldn't like it at all, at all, if they transgressed.) They won't leer at you in the street. Of course they're also extremely unreliable. And often very, very drunk.

Talking about drunk Irishmen... have you ever been to a stadium full of 'em? Think of me when I'm at Croke Park this Friday, Saturday and Monday.