We got snow in Belfast too!

On Mothering Sunday (which was the day after Paddy's Day over here) we had snow! I was very excited, and took pics; everyone else complained about the cold. I may have done some of that too, but having the fortune to be sleeping in a bed with a duvet this time (as opposed to Tipperary, where I was curled up in an ungainly fashion on a chair, without a blanket) I felt the thrill more than the cold. Regrettably most of the time it was wet, so the snow didn't lie, but I did manage to catch a car with some snow on its boot, and some snow in the garden. You can just make out the purple fence which Lara and I want to paint yellow in the second picture.

Lara had some friends up for the weekend, and we all went to The Parador, which is just around the corner from us, to watch the Ireland vs Italy match (Ireland walked all over them 51-24). I decided to go to the bathroom before the match started, and was horrified to discover it literally swarming with small girls; all wearing pink, and all scarcely visible beneath six inches of foundation and blusher. It was a truly traumatic experience, especially when I realised that they were going to be dancing for us.

To prove the it's not just New Zealand that does tacky on Paddy's Day, I took photos. Unfortunately none of the neonate came out (she was probably too small for the camera to pick up). The dancers were actually very good, but I had no idea they had to wear bouncy, curly wigs (heheh). The worst thing about the whole affair was I was out of beer (the route to the bar had become the dance floor), and they danced for, like, ages (at least fifteen minutes or so).

I just realised the other day that I completely forgot to have a pint of Guinness! How embarrassing. We arrived at the pub, having eschewed breakfast in favour of a beer, and started straight on to Smithwick's. I'm justifying it to myself along the lines of "It's Irish, and you can't get it in NZ"...

I've chanced upon a new source of hilarity for the weekends: BBC commentators. They're brilliant, I can't believe they haven't all been sacked. We were watching the England vs. France rugby match the other day, and a French player had been injured by an English lad. One of the announcers was talking about it, and ended his comment with "Oh well, I don't care, he's French"! Seriously; live, on air. Astonishing.

We've been making chilli vodka over the last couple of weeks which is a more complicated process than I had imagined. Apparently you have to add honey as well as chillies. At the beginning we threw a bunch of (small, in the hope they'd be strong) fresh chillies in, and shook the bottle periodically for two weeks. Last night we sieved the vodka, heated it quickly on the stove, then stirred in some honey; coughing all the while, because the heat of the chilli caught at the back of our throats - a good sign, I choose to think. Then, because I can't afford a funnel at the moment, we transferred it to the coffee plunger, and poured it back into the bottle. It looks a little like reisling or mead at the moment, apart from the fact it's in the freezer. We get to drink it on Saturday. Excellent...

I really really really need a job now; the Belfast Film Festival is on, and I can't afford to go! This is after I spent two days scientifically working out what I was going to see. Ah well, I'm sure applying for jobs will be just as culturally satisfying.