Dublin and Drag Queens - Photos to Follow

Travel Blog – Dublin

First off, I want to talk about Planes. I remember when I was 9; I went to Florida with my family. The Plane was gorgeous, rows of seats, TV screens, and sweets to suck on to stop your ears popping. Ryan air offers none of these things, the seats are cramped, you have no leg space, no sweets, no complimentary drinks, no TV screens, and a voiceover of the in-flight safety demo in the dodgiest Irish accent I’ve ever heard, and trust me, if you knew my brother you’d realise how bad it must have been. And yet, I loved almost every minute of it. The garish yellow of the cabin was phenomenally tacky, and awesome. You couldn’t hear anything, oh the noise! I loved it. No idea why, I’m a sucker for shittyness.

Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t slept since I woke up at 12 yesterday. It’s now 7. That’s a grand total of 31 hours running on nothing but caffeine pills, coffee and sheer excitedness. Dublin is big. Not as big as London, but big enough for me to stand around looking up, drooling like a tourist. Which I guess I am. Cities are exciting. There’s so much just happening, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed and feel the need to smile at everything. And get lost. Now, considering I have managed to get lost in Hereford, a tiny tiny city, several times, I more or less left the airport, knowing that as soon as I got off the bus, I’d be lost. Even though Nanny told me where to go, explained it several times in fact, and I did listen, I’m just crap at directions. Luckily, Ireland is full of lovely lovely people, who seemingly have no problem helping silly oh’s like me find a bus stop that was just 5 minutes away from where I got off the Airport link. And I spent an hour looking for it. In the rain. In the complete opposite direction.

The Hilton is gorgeous. The pillows are fluffy, the duvets are filled with feathers, and the mattresses are like giant marshmallows. I can only assume of course, that marshmallows are as comfortable as they taste. But this is beyond the point. The Hilton gets top marks from me. And they gave me a a twin room, as opposed to a double bed. Because Christ only knows, I would have got so much more hassle than necessary had it been a double. Sodding gays.

I’ve spent the afternoon wandering around the Irish Museum of Modern Art, which is really cool. The entrance to it is literally across the road from the Hitlon, but cunningly, the actual museum itself is a 10 minute walk from the gate. The grounds were gorgeous though, and you could see all of Dublin from it. Or at least the top of Dublin, the high rises and all that. It was still quite pretty, and I wish I had taken my camera. On one side, it was like a ballet of cranes. All moving around and stuff. I’m too artsy fartsy for my own good sometimes. I spent 4 or 5 hours in the museum just looking at things. I really liked the photography exhibiton they had on. It was by two artists call McDermot and McGough, and they had used really old large format cameras and rarely used old fashioned techniques to develop their shots, which were in their own right, really modern. I liked it anyway. The whole building the exhibition was in was just lined with photographs. Woo and yay!

The underground of the main building was really cool as well. There were lots of photographs, and in the café, I had cheese and crackers, because I am so very cool. And Tiffin. I had Tiffin, because I was in Ireland, and that is the done thing.

The rest of the holiday was exciting, but only really when I was on my own. Prehaps it’s the part of me that is spoilt to my core, but when Tristan was around, it seemed to be all about him. But that’s all dealt with now, and I don’t want to dwell on. I realise now that I made a stupid mistake, but I’m not going to let that marr what was in reality, a fucking phenomenal trip. Excuse my language mum.

Temple Bar is perhaps one of the coolest places I have ever been. During the day, theres little book stalls, and smoothies, and it seems like it’s the kind of place all the cool kids hang. On that note, why have I never encountered Urban Outfitters before. That shop is amazing. I want to go back there. Or perhaps more intelligently, look to see if there are in fact, any in England. In the nights, theres always something a little special happening, Like the massive drum band. Maybe it’s actually a one off, and I picked a good time to visit, but it was very cool. And it’s always good to know that silly things like Chavs and Emo’s exist in other places, and they are equally as resentful of each other. The world is at peace.

I liked just wandering around as well, probably because the whole place was new. I remember when I moved to Hereford, and everything was new and exciting. I remember the first time I went to Morrisons, and it seemed mental to me that I would have to go there to do shopping all the time from now on. I don’t want Dublin to ever be the norm.. Then again, Dublin must be 5 times the size of Hereford, so I’d have a while.

The only real stand out, mentionworthy thing I did that wasn’t me just being all ‘wow! This is so cool’ Was the George. I met Irish friends, and I met drag queens. One thing that has stuck in my mind for some reason, is how blunt and unashamed the Irish are. I mean, Gerry Ryan is one good example, but he couldn’t prepare me for some of the things I heard during casual conversation. They throw around the N word like it’s no big deal, and part of me likes to think that’s a good thing. But equally, I’m hesistant to do it myself. Cultural differences in the working. It works for them though, and I guess that’s all that matters. This whole topic makes me very paranoid, but I’m not sure why. It feels like I’m being very judgemental, although I’m really not trying to be. If anything, I’m trying to be as open minded as I am. This feels like a paragraph I could delete, and no one would know it had even come into my mind, but that feels like I’m cheating myself, so it stays.

Anyway, the George was fantastic, I wound up part of a group made of Tristan and I, Robbie, James, Brian, Demi Whore (who’s real name I think was Danny), and two guys who’s names I have forgotten. I wound up being signed by Demi, and Robbie said something alongs the lines of, I must be pretty awesome, because it’s rare for a girls chest to be the centre of attention in a gay club. So there we go. Katie Osborne – Officially endorsed by the Dublin Gay Community.

I genuinely love it there though. It’s the nicest place I’ve ever been on Holiday too. I can’t say enough brilliant things about it. I swear, I’ve been gushing about it since I got back, and all I can think about is crazy plans to go back; I think it’s where I want to go for my birthday present Uncle Mike promised me. I mum does move there so I can have an excuse to go there. All the time.

Woo! Dublin!