To say that the Irish are obsessed with christmas underestimates the reality by far. Here reigns christmas madness. But it has nothing romantic in it, nowhere do you see children singing enlightening christmas carols or elderly ladies wrapping holly wreaths. The grocer’s wife terrorizes every one who enters the shop to buy sticky, oily and teeth-drawing mince pies. And no, she won’t let you leave with just one, but hands to you a package where you find them piled up to the last corner. I tried to feed them to the seagulls, but even they looked not very grateful, but shrieked obscenities, even beginners in seagullish can not overhear. In the office nearly everyone wears a christmas jumper. Why grown up people wear a horrid sweatshirt with roaring elks or half-naked Santa’s on their breast is far from my understanding. And those are not even the worst examples, today on the DART, a couple wore a black jumper, with the headline: „I knew what you did last christmas.“ Ho, ho, ho, ho. All the best for this year. In nearly every window a Christmas tree blinks in the most colorful way, I am sure when you come closer than 30 centimeters they start to play: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. But the worst thing experienced here from late November on are not mad shoppers but a tradition called the „The twelve pubs of Christmas.“ The idea is as simple as possible, twelve pubs, twelve drinks, one night. And yes it means mayhem, especially when you as I do, live next door to a pub, at the end of small village, where always from Friday to Sunday, the round of twelve pubs comes to an end. Oh, how nice it is to count the number of drunkards, who use your fence as last stabilizer before they vomit in your front-garden, before they wander off the lone, dark road. Oh, how glitter the stars, when people bang at 1 AM against your door, shouting: Santa is coming before they puke against the door, and nothing sounds so christmas like as women howling „Last Christmas“ drunk as one can only be. And with a warm feeling in the heart you clean up in the morning, because christmas is coming soon and the grocer’s wife shouts loud across the street: „Love, when do you head home?“At the 21st grocer’s wife I cry back and the grocer’s wife assures me, she will save a big package of mince-pies for me to take back with me.