… where you fly into Dublin Airport over the greenest of green fields (quite a difference from the industrial wasteland surrounding JFK)
… where Grafton Street is, at the moment, a mania of commerce and white lights and pricey clothes and street performers
… where the security guard at the door of the Trinity College library is a humorist along the likes of Mark Twain – you could have talked and laughed with that guy for hours
… where you sit in the toasty warm clatter of Bewley’s, having the best cup of coffee you have ever had … thinking of James Joyce. You always think of James Joyce when you go to Bewley’s
… where the skies are grey, the air chill and soft
… where you realize just how much Ugg boots have completely taken over the world
… where you can bond with other Robbie Williams fans in a way you cannot in the States … where you go to a pub with a live singer (who reminds you of Ewan McGregor in the most alarming way) doing Oasis, and the Beatles … and Robbie Williams. The entire place erupted into song and you were a part of it. You sang at the top of your lungs. “And through it ALL … she offers me proTECtion … a lot of love and affection …”
… where the Book of Kells lurks … in all its mysterious unearthly beauty … suggestive of a long history, of religious faith hidden under stone … of deep dark blues, swirls of gold … There it is, on display, but there is only so much you can know about it.
… where every child looks good enough to eat. Freckled, pudgy, bright red cheeks …. encased in snow suits, so fat that they literally cannot move their arms
… where every corner is filled with chattering smoking teenage schoolgirls in plaid skirts, all of them on their cell phones (probably to each other!)
… where you stay in a B&B in Ranelagh – in a garret room. Enormous, sprawling, a wardrobe that reminds you of Narnia … a skylight … rain on the skylight …
… where you go out for a pint, end up making friends with 3 guys from Yorkshire, who you then end up spending 5 hours with … pub-crawling … and then you take a drunken cab ride home at 3 in the morning … wondering: “Who the hell were those guys we just hung out with?”
… where you have a brief conversation with a guy, and during that conversation, he says to you, “You bastards have brought political correctness to the rest of the world” … and where you reply: “Jesus, man, I know. And I humbly apologize.”
… where it’s all about having pints and listening to live music
… where you hear from one of the Yorkshiremen that you, yourself, are a perfect “Lad-ette”. Meaning: “one of the boys … a chick that can hang out with the boys.” Where you are then referred to as “Lad-ette” for the rest of the evening. Where you know that this is the ultimate compliment.
… where you wake up really early, despite the fact that you cavorted with Yorkshiremen until 3 in the morning, and you curl up in a chair by the window in your garret room, and read Underworld
… where the high heels of women clack on the cobblestones of Temple Bar
… where I see the face of my future husband in the face of every guy I meet
Got the new U2 album, did you? ;)
…where you look at that thing called “The Spire” and wonder who’s idea it was to erect a big pole in the middle of Dublin and call it “art”.
You got to Bewley’s just in time. I read somewhere it’s closing soon.
Don’t worry, the jet lag will wear off soon ;)
and yes, Emily, Bewley’s Oriental Cafés are due to close down.
Oops. That should have read “Strangling my envy with all my might”.
Hey Red Head…talked with your sis last night…you and me has gots to have a talk…pencil me in before Bush puts me and all the other gays on a slow boat to China!…
Dearest: glad to see you arrived safely, but caution you from hanging out with any more yorkshiremen–no good can come of it. I hope that whatever the Abbey is producing at the moment is better than the crap that they sent to Boston [how can one ruin a play as great as Playboy?]. Keep safe, and say a pryer for me at Newgrange. love, dad
…and get me a sweater!
Oh.. and welcome to Ireland, Sheila!
…where hornets can fly right up your nose…
…as well as chicken…
Gorgeous, Sheila. I feel like I’m there. Sit on a porch for me and smoke.
Yes – Bewleys is indeed closing. Sad!
Mere:
HAHAHAHAHAHA
So beautiful, Sheila. Sounds like you’re having the time of your life. By the way, your dad’s posting cracked me up: “no good can come of it.” Can’t wait to read the next update! I’m addicted now. I need my fix!
love,
Kate
Reading Underworld. Thinking of Ireland last April. Very much enjoying your notes from there. SNOW!!
Hello Sheila Omalley, it is I, Teresa, from Bubbly Brook (aka Jen Quinn). I have one question for you, why did we write a book for Mrs. Gernsheimer? And why did not I want to be a girl? That is all I strive for now! My parents told me about your site and when I logged on and read your Ireland entry, I just about melted, God do I love that place. I found my head just shaking yes, yes, as I read your thoughts on Ireland!
Luckily, Ugg boots were not in fashion when I was there because I feel those shoes are meant for extreme climates and those that suffer inhumane cold temperatures.
I think my Robbie Williams is my Phil Lynott because I find him to be an underrated poet with an amazing voice.
Yes, the children are extremely edible and they have a wisdom beyond there years! One nignt when I got back to one of our B&Bs after going to dinner, a very young, precocious girl named, Eve, said to us, Treat yourself why dont you. That is now one of my favorite lines.
Im so glad that youre in Ireland Sheila, embrace!
Enjoy.
I’m jealous.
Did you “trip lightly along the ledge” of Grafton Street?
Jen Quinn??? Holy crap!! I have no idea why we wrote that book – do you know I think I still have it somewhere? I’ll Xerox it and send it to you. So weird?
Member our witch song?
“we are the three witches three
we live at the bottom of the witch sea
We have spirits and werewolves too
They are all so scary
And so are you
Witches the three
Witches the three!”
You, me, and katy were obviously legitimately insane.
Lisa –
It was more like we “staggered drunkenly” along the edge of Grafton Street.
Remember Oliver? Where is that friggin’ magical owl when you need him? Glendalough is one of my “safe” places.
OMG, Robbie Williams? Really?? You too???
Thank god there’s another one. I’m not alone.
;)
DTG xxoo
Pussy Talk
http://www.livejournal.com/users/nicebluejournal
Did one of those strange yorkshiremen act like David Brent? Lad-ette is a Brentism I guess.
He’s like that with all his friends. Guys, as in the American context, is genderless & he was being friendly, I’m sure.
Enjoyed the evening, but Hey missed curling up with you guys.
I should have listned to my ‘dad’, i just can’t remember what he had to say about keeping up relationships with American lad-ettes.
Penguins aren’t as friendly