An Apology.

Photo: The Decemberists. I love you all with all my heart. I will be your Kate Hudson from 'Almost Famous' (I actually didn't see that film, but I think I got the gist from the preview and the poster. I just hang around you all the time and get you things you want and tell you you are awesome maybe lie around in my underwear a lot? I don't think lying around in my underwear is the prettiest sight, but whatever you want, Decemberists, whatever you want)

Dear Dublin,

Ok. I take it all back. Well, I take most of it back. You're a pretty OK city. I mean, I still don't think you're as good as Cork, but you're fine. I mean, you did have the most awesome band in the world play here last night, and I was at that concert, at a front row seat on the balcony, and they did play most of my favourite songs (including Shankhill Butchers, so I got to hear it being sung in Catholic Ireland!!!), and they did do 3 encores, and they were supported by another awesome Portland band, called Blind Pilot, and I bought a pretty blue T-shirt for The Decemberists (so I can now use the phrase, 'I came, I saw, I bought the T-shirt'), so you kind of get a million, bazillion points for those things. Which makes you, maybe at 10, considering how many negative points you were on from my last trip.
You probably got some more points for what happened after the concert finished: I had to leave to go back to the hostel, and I thought, 'But I'm wide awake, I don't want the night to end yet, what on earth will I do?' and I started wandering home, but you assisted me by piping loud, lovely music across the River Liffey, this lovely, big, rich baritone voice echoing off the buildings and I followed it, and I found the Ha'Penny Bridge Inn, a pub that is 'so authentic' that it won a James Joyce Award for being authentic (Seriously. I don't know if that's cool, or if you lose authenticity as soon as you get an award for authenticity). And I stayed there in a tiny room at the top of the pub and listened to the 2 lovely men and lovely woman play old Sweeney's Men songs and Dubliner songs and Van Morrison songs and Jimmy McCartney songs, and I sang and clapped with the other folk in the bar, and it was bliss. Especially the song about being '7 Days Drunk' (I'll put the lyrics at the end for your perusal). So, maybe that brings your total up to 10,010.
You also get bonus points for the lovely French Canadian girl I met in an American pizza joint before the concert. She started talking to me and I shut down the conversation, and then I thought, 'What am I doing? I'm travelling alone, and here is a person my own age who wants to talk to me, why don't I talk to them?' So I struck up the conversation again and we had a great chat about the internship she's being doing in Dublin, and how she saw 'My Chemical Romance' on her own and she thought it was great I was going to see my favourite band by myself, because there wasn't any point in waiting around for other people, you might miss out. So, that brings your total to 11,000.
Unfortunately, I do have to deduct points for the awful man who followed me from the pub part of the way home. There is a point where the famous Irish friendliness and openess just becomes creepy, and that point is when a 45-year old man sneaks up on a 26-year old girl, walking by herself, at night, and then, after its clear he's scared the be-jeezus out of her, continues to walk with her, without asking, without introducing himself, asking her personal questions about boyfriends and where she lives, continues to keep up even though its clear she's increasing her walking speed, and continues to keep talking and asking questions even though she's giving him one-word answers. So, bringing the total down to 10,000 again.
I will throw in some extra points for the free workshop space I got to use yesterday for the Dublin Fringe. It was a lovely space. And it was most definately free. It wasn't your fault I didn't quite know what to do with it on my own, without a director or anything. And we still got some stuff done, didn't we Dublin? It might have been more productive with someone else, but, hey, you win some, you lose some, right? So, taking you up to 10,500.
Still, that's not bad, is it Dublin? I mean, Cork's probably on a million or so, meaning you need to pull out the stops today to really impress me, but you're doing better than last time. I will now, officially revoke your title of 'Worst Capital City Ever' (and return it to Canberra. Ha! Jokes!) and I will proceed to walk out today with renewed hope and optimism. I'm going to walk, walk, walk the streets of Dublin, and see a play at the Gaiety, and maybe at the Project Arts Centre, and buy lovely big scones, and go to Clontarf and... although, looking out the window, it does kind of look like its going to rain again...
Dublin, I'm warning you. I am prepared to take back all of your points for one mis-step. And I consider pouring rain, or even drizzle, a serious mis-step.

Regards, and Good Luck,

Jenny

PS I didn't realise how long these lyrics are. I promise you its worth if you get to the end, but here is also a YouTube video, which would probably be even more entertaining, quite frankly, because its got some pretty ridiculous visual aides and Spanish subtitles -

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3piXOEVsNE&feature=fvst

It'd probably also help if you had 3 pints of cider in you.

7 Drunken Nights

As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside the door
where my old horse should be?
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before
And as I went home on Tuesday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a coat behind the door where my old coat should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that coat behind the door
where my old coat should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a woollen blanket that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But buttons in a blanket sure I never saw before
And as I went home on Wednesday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that pipe up on the chair
where my old pipe should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But tobacco in a tin whistle sure I never saw before
And as I went home on Thursday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw two boots beneath the bed
where my old boots should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns them boots beneath the bed
where my old boots should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
They're two lovely Geranium pots me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But laces in Geranium pots I never saw before
And as I went home on Friday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a head upon the bed
where my old head should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that head upon the bed
where my old head should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, still you can not see
That's a baby boy that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a baby boy with his whiskers on sure I never saw before
And as I went home on Saturday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw two hands upon her breasts
where my old hands should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns them hands upon your breasts
where my old hands should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely night gown that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But fingers in a night gown sure I never saw before
As I went home on Sunday night as drunk as drunk could be
I saw a thing in her thing
where my old thing should be
Well, I called me wife and I said to her:
Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that thing in your thing where my old thing should be
Ah, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see
That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But hair on a tin whistle sure I never saw before