I went home last weekend to visit my pals and family. It was awesome. For various reasons, I needed to go home and get pissed and good lord, that I did.

This is what I can remember from Saturday night-

• Leaving twelfth lock
• chatting to conor on train
• going into odeon
• Dancing by the table
• Dancing my ass off on the dancefloor – alot of which involved kneeling or lying on floor
• buying shots for everyone – €60
• drinking quite a few of those shots
• someone taking a picture of the shots
• chatting for ages with the aftershave guy in the toilets
• eating a hotdog
• singing oasis on grafton street with buskers
• sitting on bottom step of nightlink stairs
• getting sick in some clonsilla road garden
• crawling up endas stairs

Quite good really but these are my flashbacks – I can rememember nothing in between. All evidence points to it being a great night.

Sunday was not good. Enda very kindly fed me bacon which helped but I felt like crap for a day and a half after that. It’s a sign of age I think (I’m a whopping 27 now).

On my way home on Wednesday morning I made a few observations at the airport.

• Nobody seems to notice the cone instructing not to walk beside the killer jet engine
• The best seat to get on a Ryanair flight is the very back seat. It means you’re first off and it’s always free when you wait till the end to board.
• 5.30am chicken salad sandwich for breakfast is fucking disgusting
• Ryanair have no clue about organising the boarding of flights – it’s a bloody free for all
• Despite their flaws – Ryanair absolutely rock. £48 return within one week of flying. Awesome

I’ll be back in Eire next weekend and hopefully my body will be more accustomed to the onslaught of Guinness it shall receive (it is Paddys weekend and Guinness must be drunk (as must I)).