IFTA: I’m Fecked. Thanks Alcohol.

I have such a sore head today after the IFTA’s there last night. As they say “I’d rather be hanging over a nurse than be nursing a hangover”.

Word of advice to all: If Anne Doyle ever offers you a drink from her flask, just say no. You could strip paint with what she drinks.

Me, her and Gerry Ryan ended up fighting with the table next to us, and heckling some of the people on stage.

At least they edited the bits where myself and Gerry started a “Take It Off!” chant for Kathryn Thomas. Or when I threw my plate of chips at Daniel Day-Lewis.

Thank God for time-delayed live shows. Without them, I’d be up the creek without a paddle.

Anyhow, after the show, the three of us went out on a massive pub crawl. Guess who we met trying to get into Renards Night Club later? Only Diarmuid Gavin. Mr fancy-pants gardener himself. He got turned away for not having his ID. Ha-ha.

The rest of the night is pretty much a mixed blur after that. There may have been an incident where Gerry Ryan stole a goat (Where from, I have no idea), but I wasn’t there at the time. I was busy hiding in a dustbin from Daniel Day-Lewis. When he went home, the three of us (And the goat) kept partying throughout the night.

I ended up finding myself in a shopping trolley at 9am this morning outside the RTE studios. And me wearing nothing but a polythene bag and a jester’s hat.

Which is at least better than what happened to Anne. She’s currently trying to get off the fishing boat that’s heading towards Portugal.

Don’t expect her to be presenting the news tonight.

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