Sneaky Ambassadorial Booze Up

If you're like me, it's not often you get to sneak into an election party at the Guinness Storehouse. All I had to do was dress fancy and pretend to be a journo. Nevertheless, I did have trouble getting in. When I heard people mention 'the ambassador's party' I thought that it was actually on in the embassy and that there would be posh chocolate. So I turned up in a suit jacket, on my bicycle, at the wrong place. The funny thing is, I was told specifically that it was not at the embassy, yet still..

'Yeah, I'm here for the, uh, election party,' I said to the dark security booth with my 'I'm kind of a big deal' voice. 'I work for TV3,' I continued, 'I'm a journalist... D'you know the safest place to lock my bicycle?'

'No,' replied the silhouette behind bullet proof glass.

'So,' I continued unhampered, 'I'll just put it at the railings then? Will it be safe?'

'No,' he replied again, his voice like a crowbar.

'Uh... So, I'll just put it here then,' I continued weakly. Was it my terrible blag or was there something amiss?

'There's no one inside.'

I paused for a long moment. 'Are you, uh, sure?'

'You're at the wrong place. There's nobody in.'

A lone car drove on a road somewhere in the distance.

'Ah... So, no party then.'

'You're at the wrong place.'

The words echoed in my head for some time. Wrong place. Wrong place. Wrong place. The right place was the Guinness Storehouse. I arrived at midnight and felt immediately that this was more like it. Gardaí all over the shop, fat men in suits, fur jackets, freebies - the stuff of which real politics are made. This time I did a better job of getting in and was soon surrounded by the go getters of the republican scene. The venue was a glorious, many levelled thing of grandeur with glass lifts, palatial stonework, gaping space, enormous projections, masses of bunting and tons of warm, fresh faced, god fearing staff.

I was immediately impressed by the broadcast. CNN had invented hologram technology. I found some wine and started to get drunk. Everything was free. There are two kinds of people, those who take advantage of cheapness and those who do not. The former were the kinds of people who wear stubble with their shirts and compare the election to pepsi versus coke, because of the colours, or discuss whether or not one would 'do' Palin. These were my kin. The latter were either white haired Christians with snooty, perfumed wives or ruddy cheeked west brits with tossed back hair and a jolly good posture. These were the types who were so used to ignoring price that the novelty of the free bar was obscured.

I talked all of my politics in the first ten minutes and spent the reminder of the night ordering stupid amounts of beer and hooting at the elections and punching the air with my fist. It felt good to harrow the republican demon.

Essentially it was a night of limitless alcohol. Despite our face saving attire, we of the leech class couldn't hold back our reserve and ended up shagging the furniture and wearing tablecloths on our faces.

I woke up today with the sticky, grumpy demeanour of a guy who has slept on a couch. I felt that with all of those quarts of stout, the ambassador had really spoiled me.

Sorry about that last line.

DIARIT: 8/10