Now you know that I get like a D- in the photo department,I try to remember to snap photos, but then I get so excited just being in the moment that I forget, and then the moment passes. I should have taken loads of photos of the city, because 1. it was full of Clermont and Toulon supporters walking around in head to toe team gear (lots of yellow and blue, or red and black) and 2. loads of pubs had red & black and yellow & blue balloons decorating the outsides. Dublin certainly did roll out the rugby red carpet and I failed to capture it, I apologise.
This is the one that I got…
At least the banner is there and the Clermont supporter. How cute is he in his petit beret by the way? Cute.
This photo is better, but I didn’t take it.
And I’ve looked and looked for a photo of a pub with the balloons outside of them, but I can’t find a single one. Please make due with this photo of Dublin Bus decorated in it’s Heineken Cup finest…
Bonus… the bus is parked outside Toddys. I meet one of my uncles in Toddys everytime I go back to Dublin (I got a two for one with that one).
Back to shivering through Dublin… Friday morning (Dublin Day 2), The Husband, Mrs. London and I were heading into town for some shopping. Normally we’d take the bus (€2.40 the bus costs now!) but my Uncle said he’d give us a lift in. If I had been the only one in the car, the lift would have been straight in on the N4, ten minutes, tops (who am I kidding, if I had been the only one in the car, I would have had to take the bus), but because The Husband and Mrs. London are ‘guests’, they got my uncle’s ‘tour’…
The tour that brings us through Ballyfermot (“That small building is where my father went to school”), and Inchicore (“See that pub there, the Black Lion, I had my first pint of Guinness there when I was eighteen”) and takes twice as long. It did turn out to be lucky though because as we drove through Inchicore, Mr. London called to say that he was free that morning and could come into town with us, and as his hotel was in Kilmainham, we were right down the road (“That’s Kilmainham Gaol there, your great-great grandfather was in there. It’s where the English executed everyone. If you were injured, and couldn’t stand up, they’d tie you to a chair and shoot you like that”… the tour took a morbid turn quite quickly).
I got a haircut too, a haircut I’ve been waiting months to get with my old stylist. I was so excited. But somehow when I said ‘two inches’ she heard ‘four’ and I don’t even want to talk about my fringe. Ugh. All I’m going to say is, I’m never cutting my hair above my shoulders, or getting a fringe ever again.
But before heading out that night (drinks and Doheny & Nesbitts followed by dinner at The Green Hen with the girls while The Husband cheered on Leinster at the match), I managed to style it in a kind of a chic and messy, Alexa Chung kind of way. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. And then my aunt saw me… “There’s something wrong with your hair” she said as she raked her fingers through it smoothing out my carefully constructed tousled look. My stare said it all and she looked at me, “Oh, you want it to be messy?!” Duh.