My First Trip To Slane

So over a week and  half ago, I went to Slane for the first time, to see the amazing Foo Fighters live in concert. Yes, I know this is late. Yes, I realise people no longer care.

Anyway, this gig? It. Was. Phenomenal.

Amazing.

I am being deadly serious.

I left at 9:30am to get the Concert Travel bus to Slane, and arrived shortly before 1pm. Unfortunately, my companions for my Slane adventure were not on that bus. I had to hang around for over an hour for them to arrive, but when they arrived… it was time for the magic to begin.

As I said, I’ve never been to Slane before. It is HUGE. Way bigger than I expected. Also, I knew there was a hill, but it never occurred to me that traversing the hill when it’s wet and mucky and people are falling around the place and dodging other people’s falling pints could be a problem. It was a slight problem, but no matter, it’s an outdoor gig. You expect to go home a little wet (except we went home like drowned rats!).

Unfortunately, I missed The Strypes, but they sounded great while I was walking to Slane. It took about 15 minutes to walk from the car park to the actual venue, and once we got inside we found a nice little place to sit and enjoy the weather. That didn’t last too long!! After Ash’s performance, we went for food, and midway through the Kaiser Chiefs, the heaven’s opened and thousands of people wept for their soggy chips and even soggier than usual noodles. We battled the slippery slopes back to the bottom of the hill, burgers and chips in hand (I would also like to mention that I managed to make it from the food stands at the top of the hill back to the bottom by the pit WITHOUT spilling my bottle of Coke. This is impressive when you consider how mucky the slopes were and they took my bottle cap.)

(Actually, that’s a valid point. Why did they take my bottle lid? Like, I know they say I could throw it at the stage, but surely I’ll do more damage with the open bottle than the lid???)

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Get Rich Quick Schemes!

The latest topic of conversation in my home is summer and the plans that I haven’t got for it. At 19 years old, I really should have some sort of a job or some way of making money – and the time has come again for me to be looking into jobs and hoping and praying somewhere will take me on.

This year, the suggestion was made that I go to America for the summer. Alas, I have no money at all for this kind of trip, so I’ve come up with a few plans to make lots of money really quickly to finance my trip:

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Electric Picnic 2014

Last Sunday, August 31st, was without a doubt one of the oddest days of the summer – but the best one by far.

I was woken at around 12:30pm ¬†(the norm as I hadn’t gone to sleep until about 4 or 5am the night before) by a phonecall from two of my friends, Ger and Mr. Darcy himself, who were up at Electric Picnic for the weekend, wanting to know if I was coming up. See, I had a Sunday ticket, but for various and slightly complicated reasons, it wasn’t going to be used. I informed my friends of this and they seemed disappointed, but mentioned that they had apparently been spotted front and centre at Blondie on RTE’s EP highlights on Saturday, so I went downstairs to watch it and try and spot my friends.

I started thinking about why I wasn’t going, and mentioned it to my mother. Her response? “Well, why don’t you go? We can sort it out.” So I decided, fuck it! Let’s go to EP! And so began the greatest 24 hours of the summer. My mother (the living saint) drove me to Laois (apparently, it’s only an hour away. I mistakenly believed it was like 5 hours away… the more you know!), and I set off to find my friends. After a but of confusion over where to pick up my wristband (it was a special Sunday Guest ticket), we eventually found the guestlist cabin and we were off for a day of alcohol and music!

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Summertime in the South West

Hello all!

This will be just a general life blog post. I’m working on more interesting ones, I swear, but I couldn’t not blog about last week, which I spent back down in Kerry.

It started originally as a simple enough plan: get the bus down Friday, spend the weekend with my friend, hit the nightclubs in Killarney on Saturday night, recover Sunday, get the bus home on Monday morning. Simples. But slowly, day by day, it turned into a week long holiday and I cannot remember a time where I laughed so much or had a greater chance of picking up a British accent. (I didn’t, in case you’re interested, but my mother informed me when I came home that when I called her during the week ad I an extremely thick Kerry accent. Fabulous).

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