Please let me leave. It's cold and dark and I can only buy 3.5% beer. I am very impressed with your snow storms, your rich culture and beautiful women. But I am cold. And I have not slept. And I want to go home. I have Cannonballin' to do and these little fingers are struggling to type.
Also, RyanAir is the worst thing to come out of Ireland since Bono.
If I have shown no signs of life by Wednesday, avenge death.