Friday 8th December 2023, 10.25:
I’m in a taxi on the way to Birmingham airport with some very good friends of mine – yep, that’s right, we’re off on holiday again. This time it’s to Dublin for Sam’s 25th, and I believe there’s roughly about 20 of us going, so it’s sure to be a messy one.
Welcome, then, to another Harold holiday blog. H x
Friday 8th December 2023, 13.45:
We’re currently flying over the Irish Sea. Kiera is nosily looks over my shoulder at what I’m typing. She just read that and started giggling. Please fuck off, darling.
Now I’ve had my chicken bites from the airport Wetherspoons and another red bull, I’m actually feeling rather excited for our weekend away. As one would expect, I’m reading a few opinion pieces in The Guardian to pass the time on the flight, which should only be 45 minutes apparently, whilst also listening to Nicki Minaj’s new album Pink Friday 2. Slay the house down hunty.
I’ve never been to Dublin before, but I’ve been reliably informed that you only need to know two things about the Irish capital – it’s fucking expensive but a great laugh. Sounds quite similar to the rest of my escapades to be fair, so I’m very much looking forward to it.
Pretty girls love me and ugly hoes hate me. Speak soon. H x
Friday 8th December 2023, 16.55:
I’m in a bar called Oliver St. John Gogartys near Temple Bar. It’s standing room only and Kiera has just paid €18 for two pints. There’s a group of English lads stood next to the stage having “banter” with the live act that’s on and, although I say this every time I go abroad, I honestly understand why everyone fucking hates us. On a more positive note, several of the bar staff would absolutely get it. I just handed a glass to one of them as he was collecting and the smile he gave me was enough to give me butterflies. Well, amongst other things.
Speak soon. H x
Friday 8th December, 18.40:
I’ve just paid €9.95 for a pint of San Miguel. I have absolutely no words.
Plenty of cock in here though. H x
Friday 8th December 2023, 21.15:
I’m in KFC with Tom Brooks. It’s €36.50 for an 8 piece boneless banquet. I’m sure that’s about £14 in England? Thieving Irish bastards. Also, it turns out that it’s not just England that gets complete fucking morons working in KFC, it’s Ireland too. How hard is it to put some chicken in a bag? God I’m so hungry.
Sam, if you’re reading this, I hate you. H x
Friday 8th December 2023, 23.35:
Ok, did I go back out for more drinks after that? Yes. Have I also had some more chips from McDonald’s? Yes. Are Adam and I also now sharing a pizza from the hotel restaurant? Yes. God bless my arteries.
H x
Saturday 9th December 2023, 11.15:
I’ve decided that Dublin is a shit hole – it’s even more expensive than London with nowhere near the same on offer. I paid €27 for two drinks last night. Twenty seven fucking euros? I really can’t be arsed to go out and spend that much money today, but the show must go on.
I don’t remember much of last night, other than Brooks and I getting bored of queueing in a busy bar, so instead we walked out and tried to find a casino, which we failed to do, so we ended up in KFC instead. At first I thought it was ridiculous that the KFC had security on the door, but then it made more sense when he had to eject someone for threatening to stab another customer. God bless the Irish.
Right, I suppose I should get in the shower. H x
Saturday 9th December 2023, 15.45:
We’re currently in a bar that has a basement full of pool tables, darts and those machines that you try to punch as hard as you can, so it’s safe to say there is an overwhelming stench of testosterone in the air. It’s touch and go as to whether I’m going to hate crimed this afternoon.
Nonetheless, I’m having a cracking time, despite it once again being €9 a pint. A few more of Sam’s friends have shown up today, so it’s somehow even more lively than last night, but in all fairness the vibes are quite good. I’m fairly confident one of us is going to be arrested at some point, but I’m enjoying it whilst I can.
Speak soon. H x
Saturday 9th December 2023, 17.50:
We’re all in Sam Morris’ hotel room. I think there’s about 10 of us? Brooks is looking fat, someone is having a poo, Kiera has lost her room card, Lana is considering getting her tits out and Taylor Swift is on the television.
Someone just said Tom Brooks might get stabbed so I need to go. Speak soon. H x
Sunday 10th December 2023, 12.50:
Kiera has just informed me that, after finishing my pizza in bed at 3am last night, I got the unfinished pizza from the previous night out of the bin, microwaved it and finished that too. That’s got to be some sort of cry for help, surely?
It’s another wonderful day in Dublin. It’s cold, windy and the vibe is very soggy, but we soldier on. I remember very little from last night, although I do vaguely remember insulting a barman for some reason.
I need some food before I can write anything else. Chow. H x
Sunday 10th December 2023, 15.10:
I have just been informed that Tom Brooks had a full on argument with a statue of Santa last night and called him “a fat piece of shit”. Wonderful.
H x
Sunday 10th December 2023. 16.15:
I’m sitting in The Temple Bar and, if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I am thoroughly underwhelmed, although in all fairness I suppose that could just be the effect or 48 hours of non-stop drinking. This picture of Kiera sums it up quite well.
At the risk of sounding utterly ungrateful and spoiled, I think I’ve frankly had too many holidays this year to absorb the beauty of this wonderfully vibrant city. Frankly, I’m tired, I’m hungover and 2023 has been far too eventful and taken too much energy for me to be able to properly appreciate Dublin for the incredible city it is. Saying that, all they have on draught in most pubs is Birra Moretti or Heineken, so maybe it is a shit hole after all. I fucking hate Guiness before you say anything.
I might write more in a few hours after a few more beers. Then again, I might also be in bed. We’ll see. H x
Sunday 10th December 2023, 22.00:
Turns out it was the latter – myself, Kiera and Adam are currently lying in bed watching I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Kiera and I decided to leave the pub at about quarter past seven, get a McDonald’s and go back to the room to watch some shit TV.
Too tired. H x
Monday 11th December 2023, 09.45:
We’re in a taxi on the way to the airport. I don’t even feel hungover, just very tired and longing for my bed. It took my about 15 minutes to write that. We’re at the airport now. Full debrief later. Maybe.
H x
Tuesday 12th December 2023, 15.55:
I’m sorry this was such a shit blog, but even I struggle to make 72 hours of non-stop drinking sound interesting. Well, I could make it sound interesting, but that would probably ruin several lives as well, so best not to. Long story short – expensive and shit, but absolutely cracking vibes.
Until the next one. Happy birthday Sam. H x
