This week was a lil’ more interesting than last week, as I went from Heathrow to Dublin to drop off the instruments for the Italian band Maneskin at the 3 Arena. I love Ireland, I love Dublin, and I fucking love the Irish. And all the stereotypes about our shamrock-toting cousins are true; of all the shows we do throughout Europe, the drunkest crowd are the Irish BUT they are also the loudest and funnest mob you’ll ever see. And they also have the most fights. I think the record number of scraps we saw was…maybe Stormzy’s show around February ’22?

And girls with Oirish accents? God damn.

You can tell the difference between English/Welsh people and Irish people as soon as you hit the border/customs control. Our side are friendly enough, but when I drove off the ferry in Dublin, and got stopped by an Irishman in a hi-viz at the control stop, the first thing he said to me was;

“Are ye workin’ wit anyone good, man?” he asked, looking at our company name down the side of my truck.

“Maneskin,” I said.

“Oo the fuck are they?” he asked.

“They’re a Swedish band,” I said.

“Sing me a song.”

“They did the cover of Beggin‘.”

“O’ wha’ now?”

“Beggin,” I said. “Y’know, Maggie, yooooouuuu oooo oooo oooo.”

“Who sings tha’?” he asked.

“Maneskin,” I said.

“An’ let’s keep it tha’ way,” he said. “Do you ‘ave any cigarettes or alcohol?”

“No.”

“Would you like some?”

I love Ireland.

Fuckers got me on the boat back as well.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping to the reception desk on the Dublin to Holyhead ferry. “I can’t get the wifi to work.”

The big guy behind the desk looked at me, huffed at me, and then handed me a slip of paper with a code on it.

“Der you go, son,” he said. “Premium free wifi.”

“Oh wow,” I said, taking the paper. “I really appreciate it, thanks.”

I turned to walk away, then remembered something. “Oh hey, I’m a truck driver so can I get a cabin so I can get some sleep?”

He huffed again. “Now ye takin’ the fookin’ piss,” he said in such a deadpan way that I actually thought I was taking the fookin’ piss. But then he smiled and gave me a key card. And told me to fook off.

I fookin’ love the Irish.