I've made an Irish friend before I go there. Jolly hockeysticks, GET IN.
Now, I don't understand a word she is saying. But if I string every third word together, and please bear in mind she calls a bird a “boarrrrd”. (A board?), and I've had to say a few times, “Huh, sorry what?,” “Beg pardon?”, “Could you repeat your sentence just one more time please,” and plenty of “Yes...sure....right...absolutely's........”
She said that Irish people have the gift of the gab and never stop talking, they're friendly. That's cool. That's more than cool.
More pointedly, however, she said they don't actually wear green.
It just doesn't make sense in the idealised part of my brain.
“Em, in fact doodlymacallithoofallay the folk actually wear more green in Sath Africa doodlyo'connor o'grady.”
Peas: People wear more green here than in Ireland.
Peas: No. This can't be right. My friend said the same thing, don't crush my dream.
Peas: I suppose there're no rainbows either.
“Em, yeahdoodly. Oirishcoffee.”
Peas: Please take me to a pub in Dublin where people play music and talk about leprechauns and possibly wear a little bit of green.
Peas: Flanagans! Did you just say Flanagans?
“Em, no. roightflanagans...look! A board! Inna sky!”
Peas: [WTF?] “Um.....we have a restaurant chain here called O'Hagans.”
Listening to her is like listening to lyrics. Her speech is so lyrical and so...incomprehensible to the naked ear. But nevertheless I know a local! And she's taking me to an authentic Irish local pub when I'm there. She says by the time I'm done with Dublin, I'll understand everyone.
Or at least I think that's what she said.
(“Tahpo'themorrrnintehya.” Crikey, what. Ohhh. Top.Of.The.Morning.To.You...Gotcha.”)
Apparently on one of my days there, there's a big bank holiday festival going on. O'MYSACK. Geddit? O'MySack. How terribly exciting! And there's a statue of a poet called Paddy pretty much next to my hotel.
It's a picture.