Friday 20th June 2003
Got picked up from home around 11am along with Doogal, Sideshow Rodger and the Crane. The flight was not until 1.40pm so this gave us plenty of time to relax in the airport. Once there, we teamed up with Gino, Flash, Sgt Cartwright, Stingray, the Brain, Robbie G, Dan the Man, the Lyons, the Walker, Satan, BeerMatt and Sickboy Robin, whilst The Big ‘un would already be there and Davey and Grogie were to join us the following day. Needless to say they were all drinking when we got there…we joined in as it would be rude not to. Bought a cheese and ham sandwich which cost £3.80!!!
I think the handling charge to pass it over the counter was to blame. Made our way to the nearest bar and fired in the Stellas until we could go through to departures. Once through, we again hit the Stellas in T2’s biggest pub….the carnage had definitely begun.
On the plane Gino, the Crane and myself sat in anticipation of the drinks trolley, only to find that the other beer monsters in our party had ran it dry….we were only about 5 rows from were it started!
The Crane and I are not the kind of people to be disheartened so we opted for a couple of double vodkas and orange. Let me just say that no sooner had we poured our drinks than the plane started it’s descent. Arse. We were forced to neck our drinks and pour out the 2nd. After that went down we were starting to feel a little jovial. We got into taxis, no doubt a little worse for wear, without having a Scooby Doo where we were staying and all our Mobile Phones changing service more times than the average girl changes her clothes before going on a night out, we were not a good advert for organization. However we finally made it to the Four Courts Hostel, situated somewhere on the Liffey directly opposite what resembled St Paul’s Cathedral….a good reference point for any lost squadron members I thought. BeerMatt wasn’t too impressed when he realised he must have left his wallet including 60 quid on the plane….doh! Fortunately we rallied around and made sure he didn’t go short. After ditching our bags we headed off to the nearest pub and began our love-hate relationship with the Guinness. We met Brad in a traditional Irish pub and commenced the footy presentation, stopping a while to fill up on a Maccie D’s before heading off to get changed at the hostel. With the best intentions of visiting a club, we made sure we were all scrubbed up well and highly presentable.
First stop was Bono’s hotel The Clarence, which was a couple of minutes walk away from our hostel. On walking in, I can only describe it as being classy but not too highbrow. A circular bar with a couple of annexes branching off it to the left, dim lighting and wood panneling all over. Now Guinness is a fine drink, make no mistake, that is, as long as it’s cold……the Guinness in there tasted as if the barman was trying to hatch it. Not good. Resident Irish Legend and all round ladies man (no not me) Colin Farrell, casually mixed with the locals and seemed oblivious that the squadron had entered his airspace, that was until StingRay introduced himself. U2, Arnie Schwarzenegger and Nelson Mandela would join him, the following night we believe due to being guests of honour at the Special Olympics. With no music to be heard in the Clarence, we decided to press on to Fitzsimmons bar. To be fair, it’s a bar that wouldn’t look out of place in any English city or town, nothing to get your heart racing. What did set it apart was however that it served Vodka Ice on draught!! Oh dear….Power Shandies on draught . Of course we got stuck in like kids in a candy store, which in hindsight was not the best idea as we were all tired and had been drinking like Olympic sprinters run 100m, so you can imagine the state we were getting into. The dj was about 12 and had a PC Cd system and basically played anything you could think of. I only recall Tim Deluxe’s just won’t do, worthy of anything to start a stir in my trousers though. To be honest I can’t remember much about the pub but the club is a different matter. Once outside we turned right and got lured to a club directly under Fitzsimmons…name?….not a clue. The bouncer said it would be 6€ entry. The cashier said that would be 13€ each….obviously a little worse for wear, we regarded this great value and were more than happy to shell out the dosh. 
Planks. Only myself, StingRay, Doogal, Robbie G, Walker, BeerMatt and The Crane made it in. The rest? Who knows? A small club, too bright for my liking but had a good layout…I asked the CD dj for about 10 different songs but he hadn’t a clue who half of them were……who’s Shakedown??? Muppet. Anyway I digress, all was going swimmingly – made some shapes on the dance floor, spoke to loads of people and was getting on particularly well with Helen from Castleford when out of my eye, I notice the dreaded sight of the Brain with his arms aloft on the dance floor. How he found us only he knows. The Brain after a few beers means one thing – unequivocal carnage!! First he commenced to grind Helen from behind (to be fair she was a top girl and took it in good spirits) and then any girl in the vicinity of 2 yards….his new nickname is Party Boy off Jackass after that night….I know, I know, this sounds like your stereotypical night in the West End, but believe you me we don’t act like this at all…normally…honest. The place seemed to be full of people who were just out to have a good night…hen parties and the like. Not ideal but perhaps it was what was needed after the day we’d had. No “decent” club but hey, we had a good craic……and to think, I’d put my funky trousers on for the occasion. 8)
Saturday 21st June 2003
Must have surfaced around 9am after coming home to find Sickboy Robin’s bunk empty and literally hovering about a foot in mid-air! Basically the Guinness had come back with furious anger and he’d barfed all over his bed and bailed from the top bunk. The hovering bed will have to go down as one of life’s mysteries, along with crop circles, Bermuda triangle and why milk runs down the outside of the bottle when you first try to pour it. As each member came to scoff at our room’s god-awful stench and to witness the state of each other we all traipsed to the nearest restaurant come pub. The waitresses face was a picture when we asked for a table for around 20. As if using the art of mind reading, full English breakfasts (or should that be a full Irish?) appeared from nowhere. Nobody had even mentioned food! As we all finished eating some bright spark asked if anybody fancied a Guinness? To which Stingray requested 16 of the black rascals, only to say that we all had to down one in one to get rid of our hangovers – hair of the Alsatian and all that. Deep joy. One turned into six down in one…the Big ‘Un ended up downing 13 in one by the end of play that day, including 3 hat-tricks. Carnage ahoy! Somehow 18 of us made it to another pub in the heart of ****, a cracking pub with an open-air section right in the belly of the building. Hen parties seemed to be everywhere but we weren’t complaining. I managed to get Guinness down my Diesel t-shirt and somehow ended up with the nickname Diesel Weasel….Go figure? We basically spent all afternoon there before deciding to go back for a power sleep. I wanted to go to a club desperately even if nobody else was arsed.
I was woken up around 8pm absolutely on a different planet, showered, got all jeaned up and met up with the others at Fitzsimmons. My mates are like homing pigeons...some may misconstue this as pridictability . Watched Colin Farrell, bladdered presenting an award at the Special Olympics on a big screen TV and set to work at the power shandies. In 4 separate visits to the bar I was charged 4 separate prices and the Fox can only take so much piss taking before he has to lay down the law 
. Got a couple of free drinks for my endeavour. Like a glove! 
As the night wore on a hen party we had seen in the previous pub made it’s way in and all mayhem broke out. Office Pest Sideshow Rodge had told them I was a stripper and all I can say is velicoraptor’s do not attack as quickly or as vicious as they did. All I could think was to keep a firm grip on my gruds. Had my photo took and they let me go…hahaha . Allsorts of shenanigans went on in the pub, many I cannot type but I had a good chat with a gorgeous local Irish girl fo hours and convinced her to take me to Spirit. Again I tried to rally the troops but only managed to coax the Brain and BeerMatt (Kevin and Perry for the night) to the club. A brisk walk by our tour guide and we were soon there. The exterior didn’t overly impress me but on entry, via what seemed an eternity to get there, I was blown away. There are clubs and there are clubs…Dublin should be proud of Spirit, it’s up there with the best ot them, easily . Complete with fire-eaters, stilt walkers, dancers and a seriously mad black guy with blond dreads, I was, as we say in Manchester, avin’ it!! Tunes that were firin’ on all cylinders that night, were Clocks, Shake it and more notably Sweet Dreams mixed into Love Story. Although not there for as long as I would have liked, I really came away with a sense of fulfilment. If you visit this beautiful city, visit Spirit. Please.
As for Dublin as a whole…..I love it. Great people – Brits, Irish, American, Dutch etc, etc. Great vibe, hardly any trouble and a constant feeling of safety and finally Great hospitality. Will I go back…..too right people
Apologies for not going into more detail and not remembering most of the places names ...Guinness will do that to you...strip your memory and render you useless for the following week.....Guinness = Carnage.
Got picked up from home around 11am along with Doogal, Sideshow Rodger and the Crane. The flight was not until 1.40pm so this gave us plenty of time to relax in the airport. Once there, we teamed up with Gino, Flash, Sgt Cartwright, Stingray, the Brain, Robbie G, Dan the Man, the Lyons, the Walker, Satan, BeerMatt and Sickboy Robin, whilst The Big ‘un would already be there and Davey and Grogie were to join us the following day. Needless to say they were all drinking when we got there…we joined in as it would be rude not to. Bought a cheese and ham sandwich which cost £3.80!!!
I think the handling charge to pass it over the counter was to blame. Made our way to the nearest bar and fired in the Stellas until we could go through to departures. Once through, we again hit the Stellas in T2’s biggest pub….the carnage had definitely begun.On the plane Gino, the Crane and myself sat in anticipation of the drinks trolley, only to find that the other beer monsters in our party had ran it dry….we were only about 5 rows from were it started!
The Crane and I are not the kind of people to be disheartened so we opted for a couple of double vodkas and orange. Let me just say that no sooner had we poured our drinks than the plane started it’s descent. Arse. We were forced to neck our drinks and pour out the 2nd. After that went down we were starting to feel a little jovial. We got into taxis, no doubt a little worse for wear, without having a Scooby Doo where we were staying and all our Mobile Phones changing service more times than the average girl changes her clothes before going on a night out, we were not a good advert for organization. However we finally made it to the Four Courts Hostel, situated somewhere on the Liffey directly opposite what resembled St Paul’s Cathedral….a good reference point for any lost squadron members I thought. BeerMatt wasn’t too impressed when he realised he must have left his wallet including 60 quid on the plane….doh! Fortunately we rallied around and made sure he didn’t go short. After ditching our bags we headed off to the nearest pub and began our love-hate relationship with the Guinness. We met Brad in a traditional Irish pub and commenced the footy presentation, stopping a while to fill up on a Maccie D’s before heading off to get changed at the hostel. With the best intentions of visiting a club, we made sure we were all scrubbed up well and highly presentable.First stop was Bono’s hotel The Clarence, which was a couple of minutes walk away from our hostel. On walking in, I can only describe it as being classy but not too highbrow. A circular bar with a couple of annexes branching off it to the left, dim lighting and wood panneling all over. Now Guinness is a fine drink, make no mistake, that is, as long as it’s cold……the Guinness in there tasted as if the barman was trying to hatch it.
Not good. Resident Irish Legend and all round ladies man (no not me) Colin Farrell, casually mixed with the locals and seemed oblivious that the squadron had entered his airspace, that was until StingRay introduced himself. U2, Arnie Schwarzenegger and Nelson Mandela would join him, the following night we believe due to being guests of honour at the Special Olympics. With no music to be heard in the Clarence, we decided to press on to Fitzsimmons bar. To be fair, it’s a bar that wouldn’t look out of place in any English city or town, nothing to get your heart racing. What did set it apart was however that it served Vodka Ice on draught!! Oh dear….Power Shandies on draught . Of course we got stuck in like kids in a candy store, which in hindsight was not the best idea as we were all tired and had been drinking like Olympic sprinters run 100m, so you can imagine the state we were getting into. The dj was about 12 and had a PC Cd system and basically played anything you could think of. I only recall Tim Deluxe’s just won’t do, worthy of anything to start a stir in my trousers though. To be honest I can’t remember much about the pub but the club is a different matter. Once outside we turned right and got lured to a club directly under Fitzsimmons…name?….not a clue. The bouncer said it would be 6€ entry. The cashier said that would be 13€ each….obviously a little worse for wear, we regarded this great value and were more than happy to shell out the dosh. Planks. Only myself, StingRay, Doogal, Robbie G, Walker, BeerMatt and The Crane made it in. The rest? Who knows? A small club, too bright for my liking but had a good layout…I asked the CD dj for about 10 different songs but he hadn’t a clue who half of them were……who’s Shakedown??? Muppet. Anyway I digress, all was going swimmingly – made some shapes on the dance floor, spoke to loads of people and was getting on particularly well with Helen from Castleford when out of my eye, I notice the dreaded sight of the Brain with his arms aloft on the dance floor. How he found us only he knows. The Brain after a few beers means one thing – unequivocal carnage!! First he commenced to grind Helen from behind (to be fair she was a top girl and took it in good spirits) and then any girl in the vicinity of 2 yards….his new nickname is Party Boy off Jackass after that night….I know, I know, this sounds like your stereotypical night in the West End, but believe you me we don’t act like this at all…normally…honest. The place seemed to be full of people who were just out to have a good night…hen parties and the like. Not ideal but perhaps it was what was needed after the day we’d had. No “decent” club but hey, we had a good craic……and to think, I’d put my funky trousers on for the occasion. 8) Saturday 21st June 2003
Must have surfaced around 9am after coming home to find Sickboy Robin’s bunk empty and literally hovering about a foot in mid-air! Basically the Guinness had come back with furious anger and he’d barfed all over his bed and bailed from the top bunk. The hovering bed will have to go down as one of life’s mysteries, along with crop circles, Bermuda triangle and why milk runs down the outside of the bottle when you first try to pour it. As each member came to scoff at our room’s god-awful stench and to witness the state of each other we all traipsed to the nearest restaurant come pub. The waitresses face was a picture when we asked for a table for around 20.
As if using the art of mind reading, full English breakfasts (or should that be a full Irish?) appeared from nowhere. Nobody had even mentioned food! As we all finished eating some bright spark asked if anybody fancied a Guinness? To which Stingray requested 16 of the black rascals, only to say that we all had to down one in one to get rid of our hangovers – hair of the Alsatian and all that. Deep joy. One turned into six down in one…the Big ‘Un ended up downing 13 in one by the end of play that day, including 3 hat-tricks. Carnage ahoy! Somehow 18 of us made it to another pub in the heart of ****, a cracking pub with an open-air section right in the belly of the building. Hen parties seemed to be everywhere but we weren’t complaining. I managed to get Guinness down my Diesel t-shirt and somehow ended up with the nickname Diesel Weasel….Go figure? We basically spent all afternoon there before deciding to go back for a power sleep. I wanted to go to a club desperately even if nobody else was arsed.I was woken up around 8pm absolutely on a different planet, showered, got all jeaned up and met up with the others at Fitzsimmons. My mates are like homing pigeons...some may misconstue this as pridictability
. Watched Colin Farrell, bladdered presenting an award at the Special Olympics on a big screen TV and set to work at the power shandies. In 4 separate visits to the bar I was charged 4 separate prices and the Fox can only take so much piss taking before he has to lay down the law . Got a couple of free drinks for my endeavour. Like a glove! As the night wore on a hen party we had seen in the previous pub made it’s way in and all mayhem broke out. Office Pest Sideshow Rodge had told them I was a stripper and all I can say is velicoraptor’s do not attack as quickly or as vicious as they did. All I could think was to keep a firm grip on my gruds. Had my photo took and they let me go…hahaha . Allsorts of shenanigans went on in the pub, many I cannot type but I had a good chat with a gorgeous local Irish girl fo hours and convinced her to take me to Spirit. Again I tried to rally the troops but only managed to coax the Brain and BeerMatt (Kevin and Perry for the night) to the club. A brisk walk by our tour guide and we were soon there. The exterior didn’t overly impress me but on entry, via what seemed an eternity to get there, I was blown away. There are clubs and there are clubs…Dublin should be proud of Spirit, it’s up there with the best ot them, easily . Complete with fire-eaters, stilt walkers, dancers and a seriously mad black guy with blond dreads, I was, as we say in Manchester, avin’ it!! Tunes that were firin’ on all cylinders that night, were Clocks, Shake it and more notably Sweet Dreams mixed into Love Story. Although not there for as long as I would have liked, I really came away with a sense of fulfilment. If you visit this beautiful city, visit Spirit. Please.As for Dublin as a whole…..I love it. Great people – Brits, Irish, American, Dutch etc, etc. Great vibe, hardly any trouble and a constant feeling of safety and finally Great hospitality. Will I go back…..too right people
Apologies for not going into more detail and not remembering most of the places names
...Guinness will do that to you...strip your memory and render you useless for the following week.....Guinness = Carnage.