This book has such an arresting title that I laughed aloud and snatched it up. Tim Bradford is an Englishman who is fond of Ireland and has spent a fair bit of time here over the years. His travels in Irishry are based on journeys to Dingle, Doolin, Dublin, various pubs, Limerick, Thurles, and a few other assorted destinations. This man is probably great company in a pub, but the book itself just doesn't hack it. It starts out well, with funny, well-observed comments on our various idiosyncrasies as a people- red lemonade, Superquinn sausages, and our mystifying fervent support of the national football team, no matter what their results, etc. Sadly, the rest of the book doesn't match up to this. There is chapter after chapter of unfocused, unfunny rambling, with irritating self-indulgent asides or footnotes which tell us nothing at all interesting. They loved it in Britain, though, judging by the accolades on the back.
