Hang on. She’s got a very big hand already.
Nat, is that you with the Photoshop? Must be the camera angle? Let’s see another shot:
Oh.
Tag Archives: Rose of Tralee
Some outtakes from Daithi’s debut last night, recorded on Karl’s old cassette player. Includes stuff we made up.
10. “Lynda’s a Garda. She’s promised to get me off any time I want, right Lynda?”
9. “….Katie, all the way from New York! Hope you weren’t there during the 7/11.”
8. “And I hear you’re training for a triathlon, Aisling? really? With those knockers?”
7. “…and your fiancee Frankie’s in the crowd. His turn to be a high-class escort, hah?”
6. “Not too close to the microphone there, Colleen. It’s been in my pocket.”
5. “Here Lynette. Hold this ‘balloon'”.
4. “And you’re going to do a bit of dancing, Tara. Great, I’ll hold your shoes and pants.”
3. “Wait until you see my dome.”
2. “Your mother’s in the audience – she was a Rose too. Before the Famine, was it?”
1. “And you’ve brought your harp? Mighty. I’ve me flute here.”
Daithi’s Line Of Patter Pulls In The Punters (Rosin Ingle, Irish Times)
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVoYgSJMmGA&feature=player_embedded
Her name’s Rita. She’s 26. That’s her in the You Tube. At last year’s Rose. The girl who has broken the hearts of every man, woman and child in Ireland.
Rose without trace.
Damn you, West Clare and New Jersey.
Rose Of Tralee Presenter Dating West Clare Girl (Clare Herald)
A strangely compelling mid-afternoon boogie from Rose hopefuls and their escorts during the Cork Rose of Tralee final earlier this Summer.
Watch your cynicism fade and then strengthen and then fade again. You’ll also be whistling that tune all day.
But in a Kerry accent.
We are now beyond irony.
We are on a plane of such weird Ireland’s Own-ness that it is difficult to breathe.
In Montrose today, Daithi O’ Se, hewn from a block of white Irish cheddar, met the 32 Roses competing for the greatest Lovely Girl competition of them all.
We’ve no money, we’re being drained of brains, Grainne’s going. This is what we have left. When people ask how much we hate ourselves, tell them: this much.
(Photocall Ireland)