Saturday Night In

Stephen Fry night on BBC2 - could there be any greater concept in the delivery of televisual entertainment? I Love QI (with a capital L). Excuse me if I drop some QI gems in here and there in fancy parenthesis {}.
The perfect end to a great day.

Admmittedly September 29th started with a hangover which isn't the best start to a day. September 28th saw me out on the town celebrating my new job; an interesting Communications Officer job with an NGO that definitely isn't teaching :)
I met Martina and her WIP (Washington Ireland Programme) buddies in Dakota. It was Friday-night-wedged and is one of those massive barns of Dublin pubs that is so filled with the sound of people talking that you have to yell to communicate. You know the type place where you can only hear the person immediately beside you and in a group conversation you find yourself nodding along even though you can't hear a thing. It's a vicious cycle of roaring and bellowing and only alcohol helps really.

{Did you know that when a tree is hit by lightning the sap boils and tree explodes? And men are 6 times more likely to be hit by lightning than women?--Do you reckon that's cause they're taller or cause they hold the umbrella more often?}

A few glasses of wine in, more Wippers arrived, one of whom was one of my new colleagues at the NGO - she said lots of nice things about how fantastic I was in the interview which made Ms Bones exceedingly happy and ready to celebrate all the more. I switched from wine to Swedish cider.

{Lightning strikes the earth an average of 17 million times a day.}

A while later Keith arrived with a bank buddy, both three sheets to the wind having gone drinking straight after work. Keith tried to pimp myself and Martina off to his buddy (who had a girlfriend) and spent ages telling Martina how fabulous and stylish she was. (She really is in fairness).

{One guy got hit by lightning 7 times in his lifetime--he eventually committed suicide by shooting himself in 1983}

Martina, Keith and I had enough of the shouting by 1145pm and headed off to meet more people in Whelan's. Unfortunately Whelan's had the cheek to be charging people to get in which was an affront to all of us young workers. We adjourned to the Bleeding Horse.

{Electric Eels are not actually eels, they're a type of fish. The contain 650 volts but are like batteries and get run down after a few minutes}

There Martina (who had not been drinking all night) bought Ms Bones that 'one drink too many' (more Swedish cider) and there followed some table dancing, a lecture from the security guard about the table dancing, floor dancing, Keith's classic strip dance--you know-- when first the jacket comes off, then the tie, then the collar comes up and he really starts to dance.... You know it's a good night when...

{Termites contribute the most methane to the environment of any animal. And there are termite suicide bombers who protect their lairs by exploding at predators}

Hence the hangover.

Today involved the nursing of the hangover with smoothies and coffee, two Dublin Theatre festival shows (bobrauschenbergamerica and Homeland--both excellent), one hour of intense shopping that found me a dress for the ball next week (finally!), tapas and a glass of wine. Basically you're average perfect day in the big city.

Well Dublin--looks like I'm here to stay. Reckon you can be as much fun as Paris? As stylish? As cosmopoliton?
Ok maybe that's a big ask.
Just don't crush my spirit with the never-ending rat race of consumerism that is the modern urban jungle.
OK?