February continued much as in the previous months, the rain was never very far away, on days when the clouds parted and we did see a few rays of hope, the saturated ground refused to leak away its watery undergarment and the Welland was full with most fields remaining baptised under an icy brown blanket.

Thanks to Sean, who had booked a few days in Ireland on a mystery destination Wowcher Voucher in the hope of drawing Portugal or somewhere equally warmer, and I was invited to accompany him. It was at 2 a.m. on the 12th when he picked me up outside Willow Bank for the drive to Birmingham airport to catch a 5.50 a.m. RyanAir flight to Dublin.

Despite it being an unholy hour and the first flight of the day, the plane was full. We landed 15 minutes ahead of schedule at a very quiet airport. We caught the local number 16 bus into the city centre, which takes around 40 minutes to wend its way through housing estates and costs just 2.60 Euros compared to the 7 Euro city centre shuttle bus.

We disembarked on O’Connell Street, named in honour of nationalist leader Daniel O’Connell, whose statue stands at the lower end of the street facing O’Connell Bridge and runs alongside the River Liffey. Our hotel the Academy Plaza was located just off this street and it is where we chose to have breakfast and check that our room was twin-bedded and leave our bags in storage. The hotel seemed very popular with student groups from Canadian and American Universities as they constituted the bulk of of diners in the restaurant.

Appetite satisfied we made our way to a stop on O’Connell Street to catch a packed bus to Newcastle. It was a 45-minute journey to this suburb of the city and another 2.60 Euros. We were travelling to see Sean’s aunt Ruby (96yrs) who lives in a care home there. She is a fascinating lady with a mind as sharp as a pin and possesses a dry sense of humour. We had coffee and biscuits with her in the cafe and spent nearly two hours chatting, before returning to her room and bidding goodbye.

Returning to the city centre we were entertained during our bus journey by one of our fellow passengers breaking out into song, not a common occurrence on the buses in Harborough, but quite usual here.

Before checking into the hotel we spent a pleasant hour roaming around  Dublin Castle before wandering down O’Connell Street to absorb the atmosphere, then traversed the Ha’penny Bridge before finding a pair of jeans that fitted Sean in a vintage clothes outlet. Despite the time of year the city centre and its attractions were thronged with tourists from all around, many in large groups led by a guide causing locals and lone visitors like ourselves to deviate.

It was around 5 p.m. by the time we checked in. Soon afterwards we made our way to Temple Bar, an area on the south bank of the River Liffey. The area is bounded by the Liffey to the north, Dame Street to the south, Westmoreland Street to the east and Fishamble Street to the west. It is known as Dublin’s ‘cultural quarter’ and the centre of the city’s nightlife. It was here in several of its many pubs and restaurants we had an evening meal of Irish Stew washed down by several glasses of Guinness. It was whilst we were enjoying a glass of the black stuff and listening to a local singer/guitarist in the iconic Temple Bar pub that we met Ricky Hatton, a former British professional boxer who has since worked as a boxing promoter and trainer. Known as the 5th greatest British boxer of all time and held multiple world championships at light-welterweight and one at welterweight. He was happy to pose for photos in a very packed bar.

They say that Guinness tastes its best when in Ireland, not being a regular drinker of the brew I couldn’t confirm that this is true, however, the ambience of Dublin certainly suits such a tipple and being in possession of a glass of the dark stuff does seem the right thing to be doing. It was very late when we hit the sack back in the Academy Plaza.

Breakfast with the students the following morning was awesome and was inclusive of both black and white Irish pudding.

We set off early on a 40-minute hike to the St. James’s Gate Brewery, known as the Guinness Storehouse, stopping briefly at the nearby Gate Theatre to pick up tickets for that evening’s performance, we had luckily booked the last two remaining tickets the previous night. The Guinness brand first began in 1759 with Arthur Guinness being the first Guinness Master Brewer at St. James’s Gate Brewery. Arthur himself most likely developed his passion for brewing from his father, Richard, who was said to be in charge of brewing in the Celbridge estate of Dr Arthur Price, later Archbishop of Cashel’.  On 31st December 1759, Arthur signed a 9000-year lease on the brewery and the legend began.

There are several Guinness Experiences you can choose from, but we chose the basic package which included a self-tour, a lesson on how to drink the beer and a token for a pint of Guinness in the roof bar. The exhibitions are spread over several floors and you follow a well-trodden and signposted route on your journey upwards. Being one of the most innovative and best-advertised drinks on the planet I would have expected that this foray through the world of Guinness would be entertaining rather than dry and cerebral, and it was. Overwhelmingly the majority of patrons are principally interested in the top floor of this once-storey house and its myths, the journey there is an unavoidable diversion to achieve that aim and to legitimise any future discussion with a,” I’ve been there.” However, the climb aloft is informative, interesting and occasionally interactive, well worth a moment or two of your time to absorb a little more of the lore.

After amusingly being taught how to quaff a fifth of a glass of ale along with a large group of other mildly impatient and increasingly thirsty devotees we eventually reached our zenith and entered the bar. The panorama over the city towards the distant mountains is unique, though no one took any notice of this until a dark glass of liquid brewed from roasted and malted barley and hops was gripped firmly in the hand.  As our very chatty barmaid forgot to relieve us of our ‘free’ pint of Guinness ticket, after consumption, we returned to the bar to exchange them legitimately for more ale, only to be later ‘gifted’ with further tickets by leaving visitors who likewise had not been divested of their lot. During breakfast we had made ourselves a little ‘pack-up’ of cheese and ham rolls which we now scoffed, sipping stout sitting by the window enjoying the sultry winter sunshine discussing the merits of black versus white pudding and other important Irish questions.  We enjoyed our time in this ‘free’ bar.

Strolling back into the city centre we passed once through Parliament Square and Trinity College on our way to the Chester Beatty Library, the location of manuscripts, rare books, and other treasures which promoted an appreciation and understanding of world cultures with artefacts from Europe, the Middle East, North Africa and Asia. We idled our way through the many exhibits held on its three floors until it was time to return to the hotel and change in readiness for the evening’s entertainment.

On many billboards throughout the city and seemingly on the side of every bus that passed by was an advert for the ‘The President’, showing at the Gate Theatre: The Gate Theatre is delighted to announce the Irish Premiere of Thomas Bernhard’s classic THE PRESIDENT, starring HUGO WEAVING (The Lord of the Rings; The Matrix; The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert) and OLWEN FOUÉRÉ (iGirl; Salomé; Terminus, riverrun), and directed by TOM CREED.  Olwen is currently in The Tourist a series on the BBC.

Smartly attired, we joined other theatregoers in the small bar somewhere within the bowels of the building and sipped our glasses of red wine until the bell rang to take our seats. The auditorium holds 371 enthusiasts and it was full. The play consisted of three acts, the first two were around an hour in length with an intermission of 20 minutes between, the 3rd act was the surprise and most interesting.

ABOUT:

In a small, unnamed country, there has been an assassination. However, the gunmen missed their intended targets, the President and the First Lady, killing instead a loyal bodyguard and the First Lady’s beloved dog.

As a revolution brews right outside their front door, the First Lady sits with a mixture of hysterics, rage and obsession. The President holds forth in a verbal tsunami of self-aggrandisement and vainglory, while his mistress, an actress, gambles his cash away in the blackjack room next door.

With its depictions of the abuses of power, the disdain and paranoia of privilege, and prophecies of the age of surveillance, corruption and terrorism, The President is as striking and resonant as when it was first performed in 1975.

We both found the performance entertaining though ‘wordy’, undoubtedly well acted, it had very little action and overstressed the unpleasantness of the two main characters. However, the third act went some way to address the lack of action when we were invited onto the stage to file past the President lying in state. We can now say we have appeared in a minor role on stage at the Gate Theatre Dublin. Cheers, I’ll drink a Guinness to that!

It was raining when we left the theatre, sheltering inside a fast food establishment we ate a very late meal of chicken burger and chips before heading back to our accommodation.

It was Valentine’s Day. Another cheese and ham ‘pack-up’ was created during breakfast (the combination does seem to go particularly well with a stout.) Sean’s great-grandfather was a member of the Dublin Garda and he was keen to visit the Dublin Garda Museum situated in Dublin Castle and that is where we headed first. We checked out of the hotel, leaving our bags again in storage to be picked up later.

The building contains artefacts of organised policing in Ireland back to the establishment of the County Constabulary in 1822. Before this there existed a basic police force known as The Peace Preservation Force, set up in 1816 through an act of the Westminster Parliament. This act was sponsored by Robert Peel, the Chief Secretary for Ireland. The museum is free to enter and though small is packed with interesting displays. At the entrance, Sean mentioned that he had come to see if they held any information on his relative, who had once been an inspector and coach to the constabulary tug-of-war team. They were very interested in the photos he had on his Tablet and they took copies for their records and promised to research his relative and email the results.

Moving on we first visited to see Molly Malone,  who according to the legend was a fishmonger known to sell cockles and mussels through the streets of Dublin by day, and by night due to poverty, she was forced to sell her beauty to strangers to make enough money to get by and survive.

We then made our way to see another famous Dublin statue, Phil Lynott. Though born on 20 August 1949 in West Bromwich, Birmingham, England, he later became known as an Irish musician, songwriter, and poet. He was the co-founder, lead vocalist, bassist, and primary songwriter for the hard rock band Thin Lizzy.

Sitting on a bench in St. Stephen’s Green watching the residents of Dublin pass by and feeding the pigeon with a few crumbs from our ‘pack-up’, we listened to a distant street singer, whose ilk can be heard wherever you walk in this ‘fair city’.

We chose to have our last pint of Guinness in the Bruxelles Pub, a traditional Irish establishment situated next to Phill’s statue. Like all the pubs we have visited these last few days it isn’t very long before the regulars engage you in friendly conversation and a laugh, they call it the Irish Craic.

Returning to the hotel collected our bags and found the number 16 bus to take us to the airport.

Our 8 p.m. flight flew on time and just 40 minutes later we landed back in Birmingham. It took us 10 minutes or so to find Sean’s car in the carpark and just 50 minutes later we were in Harborough.

Review: Dublin is an interesting city with plenty of history and culture to keep the interest for a long weekend or so. The locals are extremely friendly, quick on humour and they speak the same language (mostly). Prices are roughly the same as in the UK as is the food. I would visit again.