o'gradyscrinklecutcrisps

Fantastic.

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.
At all.
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.

“Em...doodlyyeah.”

Peas: No. This can't be right. My friend said the same thing, don't crush my dream.

“Em guinness.”

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.

“Em, yeahsure...flanaganskettlefriedcrisps.”

Peas: Flanagans! Did you just say Flanagans?

“Em, no. roightflanagans...look! A board! Inna sky!”

Peas: Cool...yeah...sure...absolutely.

“Em, enwhotabootpaddyo'grady?”

Peas: [WTF?] “Um.....we have a restaurant chain here called O'Hagans.”

“Em, what?”

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.

green, and why it's a cool colour

Peas: Dude I treated myself. Bought myself a bright green jersey for Ireland.
3RM: Dude, what - do you think people run around there solely wearing green?
Peas: I'd imagine they wear more green than the average international Green Standards.
3RM: You've read one too many Lonely Planet books.
Peas: Dude, you're telling me that I won't fit into Ireland more than say if I was wearing red?
3RM: No dude, I mean do you think Ireland is a place of rolling green hills and little rainbows with pots of gold at the end?
Peas: Yes. I do. Give or take.
3RM: Dude.

[pause]

3RM: Oh wait, it says here in this book you can take a...Paddywagon.
Peas: What? Show me!
3RM: [shows me bright green advert - so green my eyes sting]
Peas: Oh there's NO GREEN there 3RM, none.
3RM: They know who their target market is dude. There's a leprechaun sitting on a pot of gold sipping on a Guinness.
Peas: Oh look! 100% Irish drivers. Classic. Do you think they've had complaints? “I wasn't 100% happy with our Paddywagon. Our driver was from Hounslow.”

[pause]

Peas: C'mon dude, I know people that go to Ireland and kiss the Blarney Stone and stuff.
3RM: Oh dude, it says here...if you're ever in distress in Ireland, like an emergency, you just have to wave a piece of green clothing about to get help.
Peas: Fuck off.
3RM: Dude, the fire engines there are green.
Peas: Yes, I suppose their straight jackets are also green too.
3RM: Oh wait dude, you actually need to go to Scotland.
Peas: Why's that?

[holds up book]

The Wild & Sexy Highlands. Free Haggis on sign-up
[Picture of an exceptionally hairy bagpipe-laden man in a kilt, juxtaposed with a furry animal yak thing.]

The Ireland ad on the other hand:

Ireland: It rocks!
[Cue beautiful naked man (with a graphic clover over his nethers) standing next to an archaic statue holding up a Guinness with a look of pure glee on his face.]

That's more like it.

Peas: You can't tell me that on St Paddy's Day in Ireland people rock up in red.
3RM: Yeah maybe if they're colour blind.
Peas: I'm not sure I'm going to understand a word they're saying. In London, it's all good. In fact, it's chavtastic. I can't wait to ask a chav on the tube whether they're bovvered.
3RM: Dude you'll be beaten up.
Peas: I'll wear my scarf. In my scarf....I'm untouchable.
3RM: Dude, if you ask a chav whether she's bovvered...I'd say it's probably best not to.
Peas: How am I going to help myself? I'm in London for six days. It's going to happen.
3RM: Don't wave a green cloth around.
Your jersey is like one of those My friend went to London and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
Peas: Hey! I am a tourist.
Martha Stewart: She's a tourist, she's allowed. Stop being so critical, pour me another drink.

The man immediately shuts up.

PS: I think I maybe might've sort of found me a new home!