The extended ramblings of a long-weekend transcontinental traveler -

Time spent with Australians is always a terrible mistake. I've learned this over time and yet I knowingly break my vow every time I cross paths with this superhuman seed...I will never, do you hear me, NEVER, accept Robbie Williams as a rockstar no matter how long I live nor how many pesky British tuck in to convince me of this gross untruth. For once and for all, "Country Roads" is not a Scottish song. Nor is "This land is my land" you wanker. There will be no complaints about Scots in kilts resting their penis' on legs of innocent Americans on stools as they try to order drinks. Feel free to do so at anytime, regardless of youth of the Scotsman. Posh Londoners who also wish to slag the cheap clothes of any publicans who slag Amercians for ordering cider with Guiness tops are also welcome.

"Heeeeeeeey! Hey babe-ah, I want to know-oh-oh, will you be my girl? Ooh! Ahh!"

Dear God,

Am I *that* girl?

Love,

Partygirl

Publicans. Zanibar. Quays. Temple Bar. French skiers. Kuwaiti techno lovers. U2, the governing body. Grafton Street littered with 8-year old grifters singing their faces off with a bucket between their legs. Shiny new Euros. Quid in change. Too many fucking coins. Coins, everywhere. Coins weighing down handbags. Marlboro Lights with brown filters.

Filthy disinfectant rugs to prevent foot and mouth that looked more diseased than the disease they are meant to fight. "Are you a bit merry?" "Do you not feel so clever today?" What is the fascination with Red Bull???? "You're American, where's my tip?"

"Are you Canadian?" "Bite your tongue, you filthy rogue!"

"What would you do if I were to kiss you right now?" Egaads. "Excuse me, I have to go to the ladies."

"Here's your Guiness." "I didn't order a Guiness." " I ordered one for you." "I'm allergic."

"Let your hair down."

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