16 Crucial Elements To An Irish Holiday

It’s summer! The sky is grey and dreary, threatening to unleash a surge of rain. The air is cool, or what I like to call ‘cardigan weather’; not quite t-shirt weather but not Aran jumper weather either. Small spurts of sunshine elbow their way past the clouds only to be blocked again, like overzealous fans at a concert. That time we managed to get those two days of warm-ish sun has become a distant memory that we yearn to re-live. The only thing for it? Why, a holiday of course! In the sun! Where there is actual heat! But there’s just one problem -you don’t have any money. You’ve spent it all buying flower headbands from Penney’s and half price cans of Dutch on the expectation that maybe this year is OUR year. Alas, it was not to be. So why don’t we take a virtual holiday? Yeah? Okay, wheels up in ten!

The alarm has gone off at a disgusting hour, rudely awakening you from your slumber. ‘What the fu.. Oh SHIT! HOLIDAY TIME!!’
You leg it down stairs to have the breakfast of champions (tay and toast of course) that will fuel you for your journey ahead. You and your siblings have already started to become giddy, causing your Mammy to curse your ‘tomfoolery!’
You finally get to the airport but all the excitement has abated. Who are all these other people that are hell bent on slowing down your escape? Why are they wearing uniforms? Some even have their OWN suitcases. How inconsiderate!
After what seems like YEARS, you’ve finally boarded the plane. You all run down the aisle like a pack of wild dogs, eager to bag the window seat. After you’re ‘all settled in now’, Mammy dishes out the chewy sweets and makes sure you’re all buckled in, while shooing away any and all air hostesses. She’s ‘got this’.
It seems like your Dad has had too many Rock Shandy’s because as soon as the plane lands, he’s standing up leading the round of applause. You shrink into your chair with embarrassment, while your Mammy urges him to ‘SIT DOWN YE GOBSHITE!’
You’ve made it off the plane, out of the airport and to your hotel without a hitch. After Mammy has made you unpack (and the Aul Fella has scarpered off somewhere for a pint), you’re all decked out in your togs and sun cream. Next stop: POOL!
Your shenanigans in the pool are regularly interrupted by Mammy waving the bottle of sun cream at you, forever reminding you that your ‘delicate Irish skin will be toast.’ And every time you re-apply more sun cream you have to sit out and wait for it to dry. NOT FAIR.
After you’ve had your fill of the sun (LOL like that would ever happen) you march back to the room to get showered and ready for dinner. With the lack of space, scorching heat and only one shower, World War III ensues.
Sixteen hours later you all exit the hotel, single file, miraculously unscathed from all the ructions beforehand. (‘Stop using the fucking cold tap I AM IN THE SHOWER!’) Next, Dad prepares you for what lies ahead.
‘Do NOT, under any circumstances, look any of them in the eye.’ You don’t understand.
‘What are you shitin’ on about?’ you ask.
‘The waiters outside the restaurants. Avoid eye contact at all times and keep your hands to yourself’ says he. You suddenly feel very nervous. What if you let everyone down? Some of these foreign folks are very attractive. What if you just want a peek? ‘Seems a lot for a piece of rubbery chicken’, you think to yourself.
You’ve managed to dodge every handsome waiter/hot waitress and found a place that has ‘normal food.’ After dinner, your Dad suggests going to a bar for ‘one or two pints.’ Funnily enough, it looks like this.
Where you meet people like this:
And at first you’re like… ‘IRISH PEOPLE!!!’
But then you’re like..
Except no Irish person on holidays is ever normal. They are always a shinier, redder, more fun version of themselves, wanting to forget about the recession, debt and the fact that we ever allowed these two eejits to represent our country.
The next morning Mammy makes you rise early, despite your wretched hangover, so that you can ‘save’ your sunbeds before ‘the fucking sly Germans bag them’. You repeat the same thing every day, for two weeks. And you love it - except for this.
After all, it won’t be long until you’re reunited with your one true love. Absence has only made the heart grow fonder.