If the museum burns down, I had nothing to do with it

What a lovely picture of ancient Irish architecture.

I have just been to Ireland, and I had a really good time! Somewhat randomly, I found out that my old school friend, Sweet Charity, is working in Dublin, so I popped over for a weekend. Here are some of the highlights:

• The stamp that the Irish immigration guys put in your passport is actually made of green ink!
• Do you think that they make green ink by squishing leprechauns?
• Fundraising for a charity involves standing on the street for 8 hours a day, wearing a really sexy fluoro orange jacket asking people if they want to sign up and give food to children in Africa, and usually receiving the response “fuck off”.
• Before I left, I downloaded a podcast from the “Visit Dublin” website, which would take you on a walking tour around Georgian Dublin to look at houses, architecture, etc. Most of it was good, but sometimes the narrator would say things like “Walk to the end of the street, and then cross the road when the lights are green.” I’m sorry, but if you have the ability to download a podcast, fly into Ireland, and have an interest in Georgian history, then you’d think that you would know how to cross a road properly. Wanker.
• Shopping is very, very tiring.
• There is a huge metal spike in the middle of Dublin, and Sweet charity believes it’s because Dubliners suffer from collective penis envy.
• I spent an afternoon at the National History museum, and it was sort of organised chronologically, so you studied the caveman remains in Ireland, and then moved onto the Viking invasion, and thence to the Middle Ages. There was one more room to go, and I thought it would look at Ireland’s struggles for independence, but instead it was a display on……..Ancient Egypt.
• I went to the Dublin writers museum, which was really interesting and informative. At the end of my visit, however, I needed to go to the bathroom (as one does) and so I went. I was drying my hands on the hand-dryer, and it was one of those machines where you have to push the button to make it start, and to stop. But I forgot to do that, so after I had dried my hands, I just kind of wandered out, assuming that it would stop automatically. And then, as I was walking down the corridor I could still hear the dryer going, and people were starting to notice the sound, so I walked faster and faster out of the museum, and I swear, if I listen really carefully I can still hear it going.
• I heard from someone that when he is in Dublin, Bono just hangs out at pubs and stuff. And I looked in pubs and stuff, but I didn’t see him. Boo.
• Flying back into Leeds, I was really really nervous about the prospect of having to explain to the immigration people, once again, why I was not interested in living in this crappy country. So I sat on the plane rehearsing what I was going to say and I heard these 2 Australians sitting across the aisle from me, and I was all like “Ha! You’ll get interrogated too, but I know what to say, and I’m going to look really posh and well-travelled when I do it, too. At least I’m not wearing an ugly tracksuit like you.” And I even had a good song ready to listen to (Shania Twain’s That Don’t Impress Me Much) in order to pump me up for my run-in with the British law people. Instead, we were bussed from the plane to a separate part of the airport, and taken directly to the baggage carousel! And that was probably the best bit of the entire holiday.
• And, a final rant. Last night, the MATH went to a seminar and then out to dinner with the postgrads. And everybody knew that I was back from Dublin, but like, a million people asked him “Where’s your girlfriend?” “Where’s avacarrdo?” And he was a bit bemused and said “At home?” And I think people expect us to be always stapled together. Maybe they think that at night time we sit around gluing body parts to each other. Well, we really don’t. Sometimes we just don’t go to the same place. Like Ireland.

Long live the Leprechauns! And the sexy-accented Irish men! And Guinness!