I Friggin’ Love the Irish

I Friggin’ Love the Irish



I’m not sure how this blog’s going to turn out…I’m terrified it might be a bit soppy…


Yesterday, I arrived back from a weekend of partying, drinking, dancing, and surfing in Ireland – it was my Mum’s 50th and her one friend and family all gathered in a hotel to celebrate.

Yesterday, I also had to read a lot of Irish plays and short stories in preparation for Uni this week and every text captures the importance of family to the Irish. Now I know that family is important to a lot of people of any nationality; but to the Irish, it seems as though family is enough. My mum only needed her family at her wedding and she only needed her family at her 50th.

Ok, and her one friend.

But it seems to me that there are few people who would be content with just their family at important occasions such as these. And there seems to be even fewer people who can party hard with their family and have a bloody good time. It’s also only in Ireland that you see every kid go home from university for the weekend, no matter how many hours away home is. If I did that here, I would be judged, hung, and quartered!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all holding hands and kumbayah; we have our fights and fall-outs, but these are rare and when they happen, they’re joked about for years after.

“Remember that time I punched you in the face and you ran out the pub and we didn’t see you until the next morning?”

“Hahaha, yeah, I spent the night sleeping in some truck, yeh bastard!”

And we of course never admit to each other how important we are. My auntie actually tried to do this at four in the morning, the night of my Mum’s 50th, and it went something like this…

“I just wanna sob say a few sob wordsss about Fran-sob, sob, sob-ces. She’s the best sob the besssst sister anyone could have-

-“Is she going to cry?-

-she’s alllllways there if I sob need advice-

-HAHA, she is actually going to cry-

-and I just sob wanna-

-Get off the stage!-

-tellherthatIloveher” sob, sob, sob, sniff, sob, sniff.

-Jaaysus, someone take her home!”

But at the end of the day, that home is Granny’s and that’s where everyone will be, fighting over a pot of spuds, mushy peas, and the last lamb chop. And you know what? I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

Cough. But for now, I’m away to spit, burp, fart, and burn things.



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