1. When a foreigner changed their mind about the ‘black stuff’ thanks to you; “Guinness is like sex, it gets better with practice”. To glue a permanent smile on our face, tell us you love the potato-like smell of roasted barley as you step out of the Luas and watch the sun come up behind Customs House.
2. By proudly stating that, despite a decade of Friday-after-work-turned-half-your-entire-night visits to the pub (and the next pub and the one after that) followed with taxi rides home, not once did you incur soiling charge.
3. When you walk out of The Abbey Theatre after enjoying a production of Brian Friel’s Translations, or sip your cup of milky tea at the Gate Theatre during the intermission, feeling cultured. “Aaaah, watch me walk in Samuel Beckett’s footsteps” you sweetly delude yourself.
4. When you finally realize that The Gravedigger’s is actually a nickname, find the pub behind Glasnevin cemetery after a 5-hour wander in the maze that is any Dublin housing estate ever, and, dazed by an exceptional 15 degree heat, step right into a Bulmers ad.
5. When you slip on your Avoca wellies, bright yellow raincoat, sensible scarf, and pack your ham sandwiches: the rain won’t stop you from hopping on the DART to walk the Hill of Howth.
6. When you walk down Grafton Street and think for the hundredth time as you hear a talented busker that, while you liked the original soundtrack, you’re just not the biggest fan of the movie “Once”.
7. When you helpfully directed a group of American tourists to The Leprechaun Museum. Except that, to this day, you don’t have a clue where it is. Giving bad directions to locals and tourists alike is a national sport.
8. When, while looking windswept and interesting, you show some pity and tell us ashen-faced islanders that you just spent some time in Australia / New Zealand / San Francisco / Thailand, and that the trip didn’t quite live up to all they bang on about. You won’t fool us, but thanks for lying.
9. By telling us that people here are nice. For once, it doesn’t hurt to state the obvious: Irish people in general just feel like crying all the time when they’re abroad because they’re just so sound on a daily basis.
10. By figuring out the optimum bus route after researching it on-line for 6 hours and realizing that you won’t need the exact fare thanks to the much-awaited Leap Card system.
11. By asserting your taste for thrift and all things good, as you sit at the Queen of Tarts for a well-deserved Victoria sponge cake after a shopubbing session at The Grand Social pub’s Ha’Penny Flea Market.
12. By following your dearest friend with the greatest connections and most acute alcohol tolerance past the doors of exclusive and intriguing hang outs like Residence, La Cave, and Lillies Bordello.
13. When you don’t give two f**** about religious matters and, instead, laugh your heart out in front of Father Ted.
14. When you refuse to endure yet another commute with the most irritating techno tunes blaring from the back of the 40 bus. You rebel against the offenders (who don’t give a shite), and draw wholehearted cheers from the rest of the passengers. Your actual reward is a 40 minute ride home punctuated by the vilest abuse you ever heard.
15. When you enlighten an expatriate friend by explaining what a Dub and a Culchie are. You even throw in some accents, at the top of your voice, because it’s noisy in Croke Park during a hurling match.
16. When you finally stop jumping in fright at the flap of a wing. You now hold your ground along Bachelor’s Walk, by walking right through that flock of hangry seagulls, head up high, totally owning those curry cheese fries munching bullies!
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