Oh, how we laughed during the Celtic Tiger years. As we boarded the homeward flight with our bags of duty-free and real estate brochures, the cynics among us giggled at the home holiday , as they called it back then. The rain, the Irish salad (a hard-boiled egg, a slice of Calvita cheese, a limp leaf of lettuce) and the pubs closing at 10pm of a Sunday night; when Music Lounge meant misty-eyed ould fellas crying into their lukewarm pints, while singing some come-all-ye extolling the virtue of misery and the Emerald Isle.
Oh, how we laughed during the Celtic Tiger years. As we boarded the homeward flight with our bags of duty-free and real estate brochures, the cynics among us giggled at the home holiday , as they called it back then. The rain, the Irish salad (a hard-boiled egg, a slice of Calvita cheese, a limp leaf of lettuce) and the pubs closing at 10pm of a Sunday night; when Music Lounge meant misty-eyed ould fellas crying into their lukewarm pints, while singing some come-all-ye extolling the virtue of misery and the Emerald Isle.