Anyone remember the entry I wrote on the death of Steve Erwin? The general gist was that he was a total legend. Well last week, in his honour, I ate a stingray. It was being served in the Dáil restaurant so I said I might as well avenge his death somehow. Unfortunately, it tasted rather like stale soap and there wasn't much meat on it anyway. Good for nothing stingrays… not even worth eatingL

            Yesterday was the day of the Oireachtas tree lighting ceremony. The Ceann Comhairle [FEN: Chairman of the parliament] did the honours. He was accompanied by all the leaders of the parties, the Taoiseach [FEN: Prime Minister] and the Táiniste [Vice Prime Minister]. It was the first time I had actually seen Bertie [FEN: Taoiseach] in the flesh outside the actual Dáil chamber. They were all walked out to the tree by a kilt-wearing bagpiper. I was in the choir that were singing carols for the short ceremony. There were TV cameras and loads of press photographers swarming around Bertie like ants over a half-eaten candy apple. (I am not of course insinuating that our good Taoiseach has anything in common with a half-eaten candy apple – apart from being really sweet of course.) The ceann comhairle looked very relieved when the tree lit because apparently last year, it failed to light and the photos in the papers were of an unlit tree. Then just for a nice photo-op, Bertie decided to push his way right into the choir (having not attended a single practise) and attempt to sing Adeste Fidelis with us! The cheek of him! I was at the back so I couldn't actually hear whether he was any good or not. I got a photo of the back of his head though which is of course in the photos section. Afterwards we got to go to the very exclusive members' dining room which had a lit fireplace, mince pies and best of all…tea!

            That night, I was visited by my good friend, Michael, who was up from Cork for a session. We took him out and showed him what a night out in Dublin was like – basically the same as a night out in Cork, except a bit posher because of my friends up here. I think the trick with going out is to quit while you're ahead. Basically if the night is going well, then make a swift exit at about the midnight mark because you know it's only going to get crap after that anyway. If the conversation has been good all night then just enjoy it while it lasts because it will quickly be brought to a halt as soon as you hit a noisy club and then the rest of the night will be a big waste of time/money. That's my experience anyway – I know many of you will disagree…but you're wrong and I'm right. Good day!

Last night myself and my colleague, Nick, went to our other colleague, Mary's, apartment to have a Christmas decorating party. Well perhaps party is a rather grand word for it. There were only three of us. More of a soirée really. I know it's way too early to be decorating – we don't do it at home until about two days before Christmas Eve – but sure we'll be gone home in a week and a half so if we don't do it now we never will. Nick had acquired a tree… He brought it in, put it down and realised two things. Firstly, the tree was too big and was scraping off the ceiling and secondly, he had forgotten to acquire a stand for it. We had to improvise. We used a kitchen knife to lob off the top of the tree and then Nick ran out to look for a stand-like object. What he came back with was a little piece of box iron, through which we tried to shove the base of the trunk. It was like trying to hammer a round peg through a square hole – it's not recommended but it's not impossible either. Mary had acquired a set of lights and a massive tube of red baubles which we duly set about adorning the tree with. The end result has been recorded for posterity in the photos section of this blog. If I do say so myself, it's lovely altogether.

            When I arrived home that night, there was a letter waiting for me. There's a photo of the return address on it in the photo section because it's kinda cool. It was a letter from H.E. Thomas C. Foley, the American Ambassador himself! I know! Crazy! There's a photo of the letter in the photos section so I'll leave you to look at it yourself but enclosed also, was a letter to the Ambassador from the Secretary General of the Irish Department of Foreign Affairs, regarding a conversation they had had about me being interested in working in the diplomatic corp. It contained information about how to get a job in that line of work which was very good to know. Fair play to himself for remembering and actually looking into it for me. I honestly expected him to forget about it because I'm sure he has bigger things on his plate.

            Today is budget day so for once there are actually a few TDs at work. The place is crawling with schoolkids whose teachers probably all booked them into the public gallery months in advance so they could watch the budget while the kids die or boredom. Outside there are people protesting against something or other again. Yesterday there was a rather big protest which was very loud – apparently looking for more funding for Monaghan hospital. The Garda [FEN: police] presence is a bit higher than normal today and there are loads of Lexuses, Mercs and BMWs parked outside Leinster House. There's a bit of a buzz about the place which belies the fact that the day will be filled with exciting revelations such as the fact that the tax on tobacco will be raised by 0.3% or something equally shocking. Well that's all the big news for the moment so I'll see ye. Take it easy!

 I know it's been a week since I've written but as you're about to find out it was another very busy week.

 But hey wanna hear something cool? Some kind of blog reviewing website picked up my blog entry about the marathon and featured it. They are making fun of me but hey – no publicity is bad publicity right?;) Here's the link:

http://blogorrah.com/we-saw-the-best-atheletes-of-our-generation-destroyed-by-laziness-starving-hysterical-naked-dragging-themselves-through-the-dublin-streets-at-dawn-looking-for-a-finishers-medal.html

Yeah that's a mammoth of a link alright.

            I went down to Cork AGAIN on Monday night with my colleague, Nick, right after work for the Cuallacht's Céilí Mór [FEN: Irish society's formal dinner/Irish dance]. It was a bit of a crazy idea to take a three hour train ride down to hang out for a few hours and then get another three hour train ride back up again at 5:30AM to be in time for work having had no sleep. I was a little bundle of sunshine that day at work but it was nearly worth it…nearly.

            When I landed in home that night, I came into the kitchen to find Wei (flatmate) washing spuds [FEN: potatoes - Solanum tuberosum] in the sink. Turns out she had planted them in the back yard last year and she had just dug them up herself!!! She's become more Irish than the Irish ourselves now – going out to dig spuds! You wouldn't catch most Jackeens [FEN: Dublin folk] digging spuds I'll tell you that for nothing!!!;) I think that's the first time I've heard of anyone planting and digging up spuds just for the craic. It's never really been an activity I associated with craic.

            Let me see now…what else was I doing. I was singing in the UCD Christian Union's candlelit carol service on Wednesday. The mince pies were good. In fact it occurs to me that mince pies in general are good. It needs to be acknowledged.

            On Thursday night I went ice skating with the UCD Tae Kwon-Do crowd. It was perhaps a rather reckless thing to do given that my left knee is totally banjaxed [FEN: out of order] and feeling very vulnerable. I wrapped a scarf around it to provide some cushioning in the case of an accident although I think it was probably a big waste of time. As it turns out I only fell once and that was on my right knee so I was happy out! There were loads of people there who didn't get off as lightly. There were several hilarious flailings of arms and legs followed by a dull thud and a screech as well as a few pile ups and a lot of people with wet backsides. No serious injuries though. There was one old fat bald guy skating around like some kind of crazy skating robot – every movement was perfect – he wove in and out between people effortlessly with his arms crossed as if balance was not a concern of his. He was just as comfortable skating backwards as forwards. He cut a rather comical figure in a big red fleece – he looked like he should have been in some Lapland workshop busy making toys with all the other elves!

            This weekend, I went back down to Cork YET AGAIN! You just can't tear me away from the place! This time it was for a Bar and Restaurant Skills Course. I figured this would be helpful in getting a job this summer. Bars always want experience so this is the next best thing. The course was split up into two parts – Bar and Restaurant. I was really there for the bar part but the restaurant part turned out to be quite interesting. The bar part taught you to be an alcoholic and the restaurant taught you how to be a gentleman. They both had their work cut out for them with me. In the bar part, we learned how to change kegs, pull pints of lager and stout, make unusual, girly and hardcore drinks and most interestingly – make cocktails. I never realised how many different drinks there are out there – mainly because normal people never order anything other than a pint and most of the knowledge I acquired will probably never be needed even if I get a job in a pub, unless it's one of those sickeningly girly cocktail bars like Long Island in Cork or the far more bearable Margaritaville in Myrtle Beach. At the same time, now that I can whip up a Tequila Sunrise, it's kind of a pity that'll I'll probably never need to. Also, just so you know, Martinis are meant to be stirred, not shaken – Bond just likes to be awkward.

            We learned several things in the restaurant part. Everything seemed to be geared towards teaching us how to be gentlemen! You're meant to take the ladies' orders first and you're meant to serve from the right. We learned how to set a table properly – apparently you start from the outside and work your way in – the first course cutlery is on the outside, main course on the inside and desert on the top. We did origami 101 and learned a few fancy way of folding napkins. We learned the art of silver service which is when you come around holding a big platter of potatoes and/or vegetables and then physically pick them up and put them on the guests' plates using a spoon and fork to clutch them as one would with a tongs. It's a lot harder than it sounds and there's always the possibility of dropping a plate of steaming hot food on a guest to worry about. Finally, we learned the most farcical skill of all – wine appreciation. It's basically a load of crap. You talk about the colour of the wine using adjectives such as tawny and ruby. Then you swirl it around in the glass and describe the smell as being floral or spicy. Then you swirl it around in your mouth and either spit or swallow and then describe the wine as being long, full-bodied, and fruity with good legs (that means it sticks to glass well!) And why do we have to learn this? So we can engage in pretentious conversation with the customer and bluff, so as to sound asa if we know what we're talking about – well we kind of do now. So if a customer asked me to recommend a wine now I could make up the following: "Oh well personally, I would go with the Chilean Merlot. You can't go wrong with this one because it's a long, solid, oaky wine of a good vintage that just so happens to compliment the meal you've just ordered very well indeed. But if you're looking for something a little spicier and you're willing to splash out a bit, I would recommend the Sauvignon Blanc, which I believe really is the best that French vineyards have to offer – it makes quite an aperitif!" Naturally, I have tried neither of these wines and if I did, I can guarantee they would both taste like road-kill that was left to marinate in a vat of rat urine for a few weeks. However, now the customer thinks I'm really posh and that he's in a very upscale restaurant where wine selection is taken very seriously. And if he wants to pay €30 for a bottle of that vile liquid, who am I to discourage him? My point is that wine criticism is a big sham because taste is quite subjective and everyone's taste buds react differently to different foods and drinks. It's just an excuse to act superior and posh.

            Of course we also learned the more practical aspects of serving wine such as uncorking it deftly at the table – the cork should come off with a sigh, not a pop. You pour a drop for the person who ordered the wine first, let him hum and haw over whether it meets his standards, and then with his consent, pour half a glass for everyone else at the table coming back to the host last to fill his glass half way. This should be done while holding the bottle at the base and having a white towel draped over your arm for no apparent reason. I also learned the most important skill of the waiter – how to nod, smile and agree with everything the customer says while inside, being completely contemptuous of him and silently acknowledging the fact that you are superior to him and shouldn't even be here. You'd be surprised how many waiters have or are in the process of acquiring a college degree. For many others, it is a way to supplement their income at weekends. Most people don't do it for their whole life – you wouldn't want to because all the smiling would eventually drive you insane and one day you might attack a particularly pretentious guest with a fish knife (a fish knife is a pointless piece of cutlery – I don't care what anyone says -  an ordinary knife will cut up a fish just as well, nay, better than a fish knife.)

            You may be wondering why I did this course? Well every summer, for the next few years, I hope to get a job in this line of work to fund my travels – not because I like serving food/making cocktails but jobs in the service industry are more readily available and easily dispensable too. The same skills are used and required the world over. And at least I won't be working in the legal sector so I'll even be able to sleep at night!;) Peace out.

I've had a rather action packed few days. I suppose it would be customary to tell you about them… Very well then. I flew down to Cork with the ever-charming Ryanair on Wednesday evening to attend UCC's Law Dinner. Normally I wouldn't have bothered going to such trouble for an event which is a rather missable one on my calendar due to the fact that the amount of law students there who I would know probably doesn't even go into double figures. Nevertheless, it didn't totally suck.

            The date of this dinner was immensely convenient though because I was due to fly out of Cork to London the next day with a few friends. I had taken two days of leave from work to take a bit of a gander around this city. I had been in Heathrow loads of times before but never strayed outside the terminals. I wasn't that mad about the idea of going to London – I knew it would be fun with my friends there but I didn't expect to be too impressed with the city itself having seen quite a bit of England and Wales already and having concluded that the country was pretty much the same as Ireland except with horrible accents. However, I should have realised that London is to the UK as Dublin is to Ireland – nothing like the rest of the country. It has the same grandness that Dublin tries to evoke but on a larger scale obviously. Loads of big impressive buildings…I love looking at big impressive buildings. London is a very cosmopolitan city that reminds me more of New York than Dublin though. Caucasians were a minority among most of the groups of schoolchildren that I saw being led around and most people of other races that I heard speaking were pure British and sporting one detestable British accent or another. It had the same bigness and celebrity atmosphere as New York except with miserable weather and a haphazard way of living that's characterised by intolerable inefficiency. The underground (which I kept calling the subway) should be a smoothly running flow of people around the city but it is crippled by a widespread acceptance of things breaking down. As soon as we arrived at the airport and got on, we discovered that instead of taking us straight to our destination we would have to switch trains twice because part of the line was closed off. Turns out this was because some guy had just got pushed under a train shortly before we landed so fair enough, they had to clean up the mess. But every single day we were there, some line or other was closed for maintenance. Also they're way more paranoid about the whole terrorism thing now than America was when I was there – and they were pretty paranoid. London trudges along slowly bearing the burden of being a suspected terrorist target. The terrorists are beating the Brits without lifting a finger.

            Turns out that the the terrorism isn't coming from "the Middle East" though. While we were there, a former KGB spy died due apparently to being poisoned by some radioactive material which was thought to have been planted in his food. The authorities are tight-lipped on who they suspect or whether they even suspect foul play. Everyone else is quite happy to suspect that the Russian government did it as this wouldn't be the first time they've been accused of the assassination of former KGB spies. Moscow has agreed to co-operate with the Scotland Yard investigation but senior British politicians have been quoted as saying that this incident will damage already "tricky" international relations between the UK and Russia. So what's all this got to do with me? Well it looks like a sushi bar in Piccadilly has been temporarily closed down and is the subject of an investigation – the police aren't saying anything but it looks like someone in that restaurant slipped some radioactive material into the deceased's food…and guess where yours truly was staying and eating out? Piccadilly.

            So a fairly exciting weekend. Apparently there were also riots in West London over the weekend but we missed them because we were in the city centre. So when we weren't narrowly avoiding death, we were walking around taking photos of lots of cool stuff. The bold imperialistic architecture of "official" London is both impressive and oppressive. I have plenty of examples for you in the photos section. All around the Buckingham Palace area are big pillars with the names of former and current colonies engraved on them – standing like tombstones to Britain's failed imperialistic history and weary sentinels guarding the last remaining vestiges of its deluded grandeur. We saw some beautiful buildings such as Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, The British Museum and, my personal favourite, the Natural History Museum. The latter had the most impressive stone relief I've ever seen on a building and it was built solely for the purpose of housing Natural History so it's covered with gargoyles of monkeys and prehistoric creatures, both on the inside and outside. It's staggeringly massive and I can only imagine how many years it must have taken to complete. The Natural History Museum across the road is really cool but it's not a patch on the one in London. The London one has a whole section on dinosaurs, lots of very innovative displays on geology, seismology, evolution and many other fields and is far more spread out than the Dublin one which feels a little cramped. The British museum is also insanely impressive both architecturally and in terms of content. They have the coolest library I've ever seen. It's circular. I got a panoramic shot of it if you want to feel like you're actually there. They also have an actual Easter Island head and the famous Rosetta Stone. It was like the Met all over again except with a strictly imposed two and a half hour limit. That was a good idea. In the two and a half hours, I got through little else apart from the massive Asian section. The Japanese and Korean sections were particularly fascinating and I saw an old book containing a drawing of the Kobukson – the first armoured battleship – built by Admiral Yi Soon Sin. I learnt about that in Tae Kwon-Do!!!;)

             We visited a crazy part of town called Camden which, for those of you who know Cork, is kind of like a giant Paul Street meets the Coal Quay. Basically thousands and thousands of Goths, punks and freaks walking around buying inexplicably cheap crap. And there are acres and acres of little shops and stalls selling unusual t-shirts, bongs, records, guitars, lamps, kitchen sinks – you name it, you can buy it in Camden. Most of Camden is occupied by a massive outdoor market where aforementioned cheap crap is sold from stalls. I didn't take many photos because you really just can't capture the atmosphere of the place with a camera – you just have to be there. It was so surreal I couldn't even believe it existed. It was like another world. There was one part of the market where you could go down underground into some old catacombs which had been converted to house even more shops!!! We found a cool antique shop down there selling, among other things, old military memorabilia. Camden was probably one of the coolest things we saw. I would highly recommend spending a few hours there but be careful – everything is so cheap and there's so much of it, you could end up spending a lot of money there!

            A lot of time was spent wandering through huge multi-storey bookshops. Our hostel was called Piccadilly Backpackers. It was right in the middle of everything just off Piccadilly Circus with Soho, Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Leicester Square, Chinatown and Covent Garden all only a short walk away. It was only £12 a night – about €18/$24 (very rough). It was also a hole. The room itself was adequate – we weren't expecting any frills. The facilities were all adequate – just about. The attitude towards customers was appalling though. It had seven storeys of bedrooms and one reception. There was a constant queue of people checking in at reception so customer service was non-existent. We had to wait about half an hour when we got there before we could even queue up to check in and be allocated a room. Breakfast is a joke. Two lukewarm slices of bread with optional Flora and strawberry jam. A tiny Styrofoam cup containing your choice of orange flavoured water disguised as orange juice, instant coffee or a warm brown liquid claiming to be tea. They didn't even have any milk on the last morning. You have to queue up for the privilege of being served this banquet and when you finally get to the top, some guy who's reluctant to speak English or indeed engage in any verbal communication at all, literally throws two slices of "toast" on a paper plate and pushes it in your direction. There was this crazy Canadian guy there who teaches English in Poland through the medium of song – songs he writes and performs very loudly himself with much gusto on a battered guitar. Apparently he's writing his masters on teaching through song – his enthusiasm was infectious, or at least a little more infectious than his music.

            Our nights were spent eating and exploring. For me, eating WAS exploring because I finally tried Chinese food. I went hardcore and went to Chinatown for some real Chinese. I was very adventurous and started with crab-meat and shark-fin soup, followed by prawns, sesame prawn toast, weird chicken on skewers and weird fish-balls. They were all actually delicious! And they were served extremely fast too! I also tried a little bit of eel but wasn't quite as impressed with that. It felt like I was eating play dough – play dough that used to be squirmy and alive. On my last night in London, I ate two whole quails – you know those little wild birds that fly around. They were alright but I'd take a good chicken or a duck over them any day – there isn't a whole load of meat on em and you wouldn't feel that full after eating two of them. Another night, we went on a major pilgrimage to a sacred pub endearingly named "Filthy MacNasty's". We had to get several different tubes and wander around the streets for ages before we could find it – it was like they were trying to hide it away. It had been a favourite haunt of Shane McGowan [FEN: Irish folk/punk frontman] in the old days and you could tell the minute you walked in the door by the décor and soundtrack although the clientele was reasonably presentable. Nothing in Filthy's is filthier than the toilets – they're covered in murals, graffiti, posters and stickers of various underground punk rock bands. If you're ever looking for somewhere laid back to lay low in the London area I would highly recommend Filthy MacNasty's. The major problem with London pubs is that they close at 11PM which is quite obviously just ridiculous. You have to change your whole frame of mind to going out. You'd really have to go out immediately after work to get any serious socialising in before you're sent off to bed. Definitely no time for women to be "getting ready"! The women in London were unexpectedly exotic. We were all very surprised as we had been expecting more of the orange-coated alcoholics we have grudgingly become used to at home (no offence ladies – no of course I'm not talking about you!) On the contrary, the women seemed intelligent, well-read, effortlessly attractive and conscious although this may have been because the setting in which many of them were sighted were museums and bookshops.

            On the last night of our stay, we went to see a west end musical called Wicked in the Victoria Apollo Theatre which was actually quite good. I think it had also been showing in Broadway when I was there. Monty Python's Spamalot was also showing in another theatre. Wicked tells the story of the Wizard of Oz from the witch's perspective and is actually quite an incisive examination of the nature of good and evil and the fickleness and manipulatibility (yeah well it's a word now ok) of public opinion. Of course the singing and production was second to none as one would expect from a west end show. It would have to be with our seats in the very back row costing £40 (€60/$75) – more than twice what I paid to see Spamalot.

            So that was my trip to London. For what it's worth my verdict on London is a lot like my verdict on New York – I could live there for a year or two but any longer and I'd burn out…and I prefer New York. Thanks a lot anyway London. I had a blast. Let's do it again some time!

What a weekend! I am exhausted. I went down to Cork this weekend to celebrate my 21^st on my own turf with my old friends and also to take part in the Irish National Tae Kwon-Do Championships. In hindsight, it may not have been a great idea to try to combine these two rather physically demanding tasks. When I got down there on Friday night, I went to the 21^st of two of my former co-workers from Johnny Rockets. I was surprised by the amount of people I knew there. There was quite a contingent from Johnny Rockets in attendance. That's the great thing about Cork though – everywhere you go you bump into people you didn't expect to bump into – it's great! It was wonderful to see them all again even though it was only for a brief time because I had a seven o'clock start the next day so I had to leave early. I spent the night in the apartment I lived in two years ago where my former flatmate from last year, Diarmuid, and another friend of ours, Ruth from Tae Kwon-Do, now live. I had to rough it. I was sleeping on the floor of the hallway without a blanket or pillow. The living room/kitchen was filled with a couch and two fold-up beds which were occupied by three high ranking Argentinean fighters who my friends were also hosting. I was outranked so I got the floor. I also visited my sister that night how had a little birthday surprise for me. She had asked me what I wanted and naturally I had replied with the most absurd thing I could think of offhand – I said I wanted a bust of Steve Erwin, composed entirely of cheese and that nothing else would make me happy so that's exactly what she got me! Obviously I didn't actually expect her to get me this. She had a friend over to help her sculpt it from a block of what appears to have been cheddar. They made him a little Australian hat and for some reason put him in a 'hot tub' made out of the bottom of a coke bottle. See the photo in the photo section. I certainly was surprised and very amused!

            We left at an ungodly hour the next morning because we had to help set up the rings for the tournament. The standard of fighting that day was staggeringly high. There were fighters from, Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales, Holland, Belgium, Germany, Spain, Argentina, USA and Canada. The Argentineans are always the most respected when they come because they have an impressive background in Tae Kwon-Do. Their style is very flashy and fancy. They are constantly moving around and dodging and throwing fast spinning kicks which are technically very impressive. This year however, they were outclassed by the Irish and English squads. The rings were smaller than the ones the Argentineans were used to so they had no space to move around. This suited the Irish style of fighting much better – we like to run at them and hit them until they fall down which is more barbaric and not as impressive to watch. It worked this time though.

            My own fights took on this formula too which is unusual for me because usually my size makes it unviable to run at my opponent and use sheer aggression and brutality to beat him. Usually I try to sneak in get a hit and hop out again. However, for once I was fighting in the lowest weight division there is (usually there aren't enough people to run this division) and my opponents were actually smaller than me (I know I was shocked too – these people exist) so I just used pure aggression and no skill. I dominated in both fights but in the second one I paid dearly for my lack of intelligent fighting because although I did more damage, my opponent scored more points for using smart jumping techniques and head-height kicks so I ended up placing second. I was disappointed with myself for not thinking strategically while I was fighting and for taking the lazy option – it's a lot easier to punch a guy repeatedly in the head than to kick him repeatedly in the head. However, I will now resume training with increased vigour.

            That night I rallied some of my old-skool friends as well as a few Tae Kwon-Do buddies and went out for my 21^st. Once again we found ourselves inevitably drawn to the magnetic pull of An Bróg – the grottiest pub in Cork. Nobody really likes it that much but somehow, everyone ends up there every night. It's just so big…resistance is futile. You know if you go to the Bróg you'll meet people you know there. I hate going to the same places all the time but I'm also a strong believer in going with the flow. We had quite a night alright and I slept that night in the far more comfortable environs of my cousin, Diarmuid's, apartment. I only had three hours of sleep when I had to arise to go back to Neptune Stadium for the second day of the tournament. The first day had been black belts only so Sunday was everyone else – which means it isn't as impressive to watch and there are A LOT of people competing. I had to officiate all day Sunday. I started off as President of a ring, then changed to judge for a while just for a bit of a change. It was a very long day. The competitors in our ring ranged from the over 35 category to the under 8. The under eights were very entertaining. Their gloves are usually bigger than their heads.

            So that was my weekend in Cork. It was good to see the UCC Kickboxing crew again after such a long absence but now I feel like I could sleep for a whole week. Zzzzzz…

Last night, I celebrated the 21^st anniversary of my joyous entry into this world. It was an ecstatic occasion, quite naturally.

            I was rather surprised and embarrassed at work when my UCC colleagues came into my office before lunchtime singing Lá Breithe Shona Duit [FEN: Happy Birthday] and bearing a bottle of champagne and a cake with lit candles. They had also passed a card around the Translation department for everyone to sign even though many of them don't even know me. I only managed to eat half my lunch having consumed a large slice of chocolate cake and half a mug of champagne.

            Later that evening, we convened with our UCC Clinical Law colleagues in a pub, from whence we made our way to Ukiyo Bar, a Japanese/Korean restaurant/wine bar/sake bar/karaoke bar. It gets my seal of approval. There were some very adventurous items on the menu such as eel and squid but I can assure you that the safer option of pork ribs were more than edible. Afterwards we were led to an underground karaoke booth where one could have some dutch courage delivered if needed. It wasn't needed. We had two very competent singers in our midst and most of the rest of us were willing to croon along incomprehensibly. There were literally hundreds of thousands of songs to choose from. Some of the highlights included Bohemian Rhapsody, Hound Dog, Toxicity, Champagne Supernova and (a very very badly done) Roxanne. Unfortunately, we had far too many girls with us and therefore had to endure some unforgivable numbers from Backstreet Boys, Take That, Celine Dion and Britney Spears (yeah I know seriously like!) Despite the musical genocide that occurred that night, it was a very different kind of night out that I liked a lot more than the regular night out.

So now that I'm 21 I don't feel any older or wiser. I don't feel like I've suddenly become an upstanding citizen who contributes to society in a meaningful way. I can use a handgun in America and drink alcohol in America and…do nothing new here…and I'm not going to America. But it's a pretty cool number anyway so here's to a completely meaningless cultural milestone! 

Ok. The bad news first. Looks like I'm not going to America. The ticket I won cannot be used over Christmas as I had planned. Furthermore it cannot be used over Easter and it must be used before November of next year. Furthermore, it is only for JFK, New York and not for Atlanta. As I was hoping to go to Australia this summer, I probably won't be able to go over summer either because I probably couldn't afford to go to both and I'm not that mad about going to New York anyway because I've already been there and there's nobody there to hang out with anyway.

            But enough doom and gloom. I'll just have to get over it. The good news is that Saturday kicked ass! Myself and Mary got a taxi to the Ambassador's Residence in Phoenix Park where the gates opened automatically and we were stopped by security guards who made sure our names were on the list. Then they put a bomb detector all around the car and got the taxi driver to open the boot [FEN: pop the trunk] and the bonnet [FEN: pop the hood]. When they were sure we weren't in league with the Taliban, they let us up the long driveway. We rang the bell and a butler let us in. After we had 'freshened up', we were greeted by an embassy employee called Denise and a consul from Mississippi who was about third in line after the Ambassador. He knew all about the history of Ireland and he recognised my fáinne [FEN: a lapel pin worn by Irish speakers] and was even able to speak a little Irish to me. I was well impressed. The house was unbelievable. There were three different sitting rooms. The other two winners arrived soon after and then the Ambassador himself came in. His name is Thomas C. Foley so I can only assume he has Irish roots. He's only been in office a few weeks. He sat down in one of the sitting rooms with us and chatted away. He's sound out and not at all self-important. It came up that I'm hopefully doing an internship in the Department of Foreign Affairs in the new year and he got really interested and asked if I was interested in the foreign service, to which I replied in the affirmative. He said he was on good terms with the Department and with Dermot Ahern, the Minister for Foreign Affairs and that he would talk to him about me!!! He probably won't, but that's still really cool! Am I adequately conveying how sound he is? Then we went into the dining room for lunch. The table was massive. The ambassador sat in the centre and put me at one of the heads. He put Mary on his right hand side!!! They were chatting away like a pair of old biddies after mass! The lunch had a lot of vegetables on it but I was able to excavate some unidentifiable meat from under it and twas damn good. They gave us coffee afterwards (no option of tea because we were technically on American soil). The cups were laughably tiny. You could have fit five of them into my mug at home. After lunch, the ambassador gave a little speech and handed out certs. Then we all gave little speeches on what we thought of the J1 programme and how it could be improved. I felt it was necessary to flag the problems with the retention of personal information, particularly biometric data, on the participants (as I have ranted about in a previous entry). Then we were given a tour of the gardens by the Ambassador. He found it rather amusing that I hadn't been born when Reagan had visited the Embassy in '84. Then the consul gave us a lift back into town.

            Later that evening, I put on a tux and headed out to the Radisson with Mary, (who was wearing a long flowing white dress) to the Marine Corp Ball. There was a guard standing outside and a porter waiting with an umbrella to escort guests to the door. The victorious Irish rugby team were there that night too. When we got down to the suite where the ball was on, we were greeted by a guard of honour consisting of the seven marines who guard the ambassador. That's what they're doing here. You'd feel like the president walking in and being introduced to the whole team. The marines, in fairness to them were immaculate, insanely professional and soldierly, and very courteous all night – even later on when everyone was getting a bit merry. The guests included American Embassy staff, Irish army officers, English army officers and high ranking Gardaí. The guest of honour was the Ambassador. We had to mingle with all these for ages before the meal. I had a dry martini (€10!!!) just because I was wearing a tux, but only drank half of it (vile!) There was a big ceremony then to mark the 231^st birthday of the Marine Corp with lots of standing up, sitting down, anthems (provided by the Irish Army reed band), speeches and a cake-cutting ceremony – it was cut with a sword. Then we finally got to eat. There were about six courses, each tinnier than the next. There was an empty seat beside me and they kept putting food there and I ate the absentee's dinner too. The ambassador came down to our table for a while after dinner and chatted away. After dinner they got the DJ set up. There was a tiny little corner of the floor for dancing because they obviously didn't expect such distinguished guests to shake what their momma gave em. Only one marine actually got out on the floor. Several Johnnny Rockets numbers were played and I was more than happy to re-enact my former duties. Towards the end, just before we left, I managed to convince the Ambassador, using my most persuasive argumentative techniques, that if a young fella from Cork could go out and dance then surely the American Ambassador to Ireland had a few moves up his sleeve. He very reluctantly acquiesced and came out to dance!!! He didn't really have any moves up his sleeve but in fairness to him, he wasn't too bad for an oul fella. It was really surreal. I couldn't believe the American Ambassador was there dancing away. It's almost like George Bush juggling on a unicycle – actually I can imagine that!!! So I thoroughly enjoyed the night. I think after my debs, [FEN: prom] it's probably been the best ball I've been to.

            Most of the photos I've got at the moment are crap cos they're off my camera phone, but I should hopefully have some proper ones for ye next week when they get emailed to me. We got a professional shot taken too so I'll scan that for ye when I get it. So that was an exceptionally cool experience. Who knows when the next one will crop up!!!...

So by good friend Cian came up from Cork on Tuesday night to accompany me to a most excellent Dropkick Murphy's concert. Yeah I know I'm making a habit of seeing Dropkick Murphy's but they do kick serious ass. I first saw them supporting the Pogues in the Point last Christmas, then in CBGBs in New York in August and now again on Tuesday night in The Ambassador.

            The Ambassador is not as intimate a venue as CBGBs but is far more intimate than the Point. Overall it was far more like the New York show, partially because it was a Dropkicks gig – they weren't just a support band, but more so because CBGBs and the Ambassador both played host to real hardcore fans wheras the Point had a rather diverse range of audience members drawn largely by the Pogues, whose fan base is too wide to be hardcore because it tends to seep over into the mainstream public eye. The Point had lots of Celtic jersey wearing shams and their blonde trophy girlfriends who were utterly horrified by the sweaty and violent spasms the punk rockers were enjoying. The Point also had paranoid event organisers who had instructed security to crack down on any potentially dangerous activity, thereby missing the whole point of a punk rock show.

            The Ambassador, on the other hand, had genial bouncers who clearly enjoyed the band as much as the fans did and were very forthcoming in carefully helping down crowd surfers when they reached the barriers at the front. It was like a bigger CBGBs which is a very rare occurance so I considered myself to be very lucky to be there on such an occasion.

            They were supported by an Australian three piece outfit called The Living End who actually weren't half bad. Instead of a bass guitar they had a black chequered double bass which the bassist or guitarist sometimes balanced on top of while still playing. Towards the end the bassist even lifted the double bass straight up in the air and played it in much the same way as a virtuoso guitarist would play a guitar behind his head! The guitarist was also rather unruly, jumping off the drum kit and playing guitar using a full bottle of Corona which splashed everywhere.

            The fans were well up to the task. Dropkicks played the same set they did in New York and it went down really well. As always, each fan there was more punk that the next. There were Mohawks and Skinheads galore and they delighted in pushing each other around in big cannibalistic circles like piranhas at feeding time. I even saw one gentleman wearing nothing but ripped jeans, Doc Martens and skinny red braces! Of course it was all very good-natured. If someone was knocked to the ground there were immediately five people helping them up before they were trampled. I was the first person up for a crowd surf and I had quite a comfortable trip all the way up to the top, being turned over and over like tumbleweed in a tornado. We brought my colleague Nick along and he was a little sceptical towards the shirtless sweaty clientele at first given that it was his first venture into the world of punk but once the pushing and shoving started he was in his element. He even managed to get up on stage with the band when they let all the girls up for the supremely appropriate song, "Kiss Me, I'm S**tfaced". Afterwords, we reconvened outside, our clothes soaked in sweat and beer. Another smelly T-shirt, another destroyed pair of shoes, another punk rock show.

            We were quite happy then to retire to a rather more laid-back gathering in an apartment inhabited by UCC's Clinical Law students as we were emotionally and physically exhausted. Upon returning home, I discovered that my key had been lost in the pit and had to wake up Wei to let me in. I've got another crazy week of partying next week! I'm turning 21 and having a party here and then another one that weekend in Cork and I'm also considering going to see the sublime reggae artist, Jimmy Cliff next week. I know – I've got a pretty sweet deal here in Dublin! Don't worry I'll tell you all about it - it'll be like you were here!

   Well I had an excellent weekend! My old friends, Michael, Donal and Peter came up from Cork on Saturday night for the International Rules Football match between Ireland and Australia. We went out on Saturday night and met up with two other Cork lads (Max and Tim) for a few pints before retiring at a conservative hour in order to allow us to wake up early in a re-invigorated mood the next day. The following morning I met my two sisters at the train station while Donal shopped for toys – sorry collectables. Then we all headed to Croke Park for the big showdown.

            Croke Park is a magnificent stadium that makes you proud to be Irish. Ireland were already eight points ahead on aggregate from the previous weeks' match but everyone got a nasty shock when the match began. No sooner had the starting siren sounded when the players just started attacking each other like animals. It was brutal. Usually a bit of aggression and a few scuffles are expected in International Rules because it's quite a physical game but nobody could have predicted the scale of the senseless violence that took place that day. I saw one Australian knock an Irish player to the ground, jump on top of him and pummel him in the face again and again and again until he was dragged off him. Graham Geraghty was carried off unconscious. But the Irish players were just as violent as the Australians and just as much to blame. There was no excuse for that behaviour. What happened was well outside the scope of the rules (the only sport that would allow that kind of contact is Ultimate Fighting Championship and as my friend Donal pointed out quite rightly, that sport has the word 'fighting' in its title). What happened was a series of unlawful assaults that may even be defined as a riot depending on the amount of players involved. And what was the punishment? Well I saw only one yellow card being handed out for the whole game. If one player intentionally punches another that should be an immediate red card. Why first issue a warning? Everyone knows that such behaviour is prohibited by both the rules of the game and by the law of the land. Players who were injured in the fracas should sue the players responsible, the GAA and the AFL, and when these people and bodies had to suffer the financial detriment of their action/inaction, the barbaric violence we witnessed on that pitch would quickly be cracked down on and treated with the seriousness that such behaviour merits – and I'm talking about more than the lip service of a yellow card. Furthermore, Coca-Cola should withdraw their sponsorship of the event. Everytime a fight was replayed on the big screen it was followed by the words "Proudly Sponsored by Coca-Cola". That's not good PR. If they removed their funding of this testosterone-fuelled bloodbath, the manner in which the game was played would quickly change from necessity. Apparently the Irish manager, Seán Boylan, was going to pull his team out of the game having witnessed their shameful behaviour and that of their opponents in the first quarter but they promised to stop fighting if he allowed them to continue. They were true to their word and didn't fight for the rest of the game. Instead, they just played atrociously and allowed the Australians to outclass them on the field. The worst part is that the first quarter was by far the most exciting. They played so badly for the rest of the game that it was painful to watch. The final score was Australia 69 Ireland 31. Disgraceful.

            My colleague Nick caught up with some of the players in Coppers Nightclub later on. Both teams were there drinking together having put their differences aside. This just highlights how pointless all the fighting was in the first place. It turns out that the Irish players don't take this game too seriously at all. They have only been training for it for the past three weeks and some of this was spent in a "training camp" in France. Sounds more like a holiday camp. Why do they need to leave the country to train? There's plenty of grass in Ireland. Furthermore, some of the players have been drinking solidly for the past week, celebrating last week's win! One could be forgiven for thinking that they were still drunk while playing the game, such was the inaccuracy of some of their kicks. I don't know how someone's conscience could allow them to don a jersey with an Irish flag on it and approach a game with that lazy attitude. It makes me ashamed to be Irish. The Australians will be laughing at us all the way home with the Cormac McAnallen Cup today.

            You might like to take a look at some of the fifty or so photos of the game and the associated revelry I have posted. Some of these are the result of the marvellous sports photography of my sister, Noríde;)

            Finally, that evening, I attended the best mass I've ever been at. It was at a church in Smithfield and the Dublin Gospel Choir were singing. They kicked ass. Unlike the gospel choir I saw in Mt Olive Church in Myrtle Beach, this one was entirely white and nobody even tapped their foot while they sang. When they finished a song everyone was completely silent. It felt a bit weird to not see people getting into it because it wasn't exactly easy listening music and the choir themselves were REALLY getting into it. I'm going to go back there every first and third Sunday of the month (when they sing) even though it means getting two Luases and walking for about half an hour. They were so good that I'm even going to mention the fact that they're releasing their second album this week and suggest that you buy it at any good record shop. Ok, that's all for now. See ya!

The photos of me running the marathon have been released but I can't save them off the website unless I pay something like €50 which I am so not doing so if you want to see me crossing the finish line or labouring my way through the second half of the journey go to www.asiphoto.net and click on Europe on the map of the world if necessary. Select Adidas Dublin City Marathon 2006 from the dropdown menu of recent events and enter my bib number of 5849 in the space provided. For some reason typing in my name doens't work. Eight thumbnails will come up and click on "zoom" under the chosen thumbnail to see the photo. I don't know how long they're going to stay up there though so get em while I'm hot!