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Feilim gets drunk with the ladies then spoons with a man at Galway

Nobody asked Féilim Mac An Iomaire to get drunk and write a report about his philandering efforts at the Galway Races but Feilim did it anyway. Before the hangover haze lifts and he rings begging us not to publish his Ladies' Day antics lest his long-suffering family should get to read it, here it is...

by Paddy Power | August 1, 2014

Galway is famously known as the graveyard of ambition but for Ladies’ Day it could also count as the graveyard of bank balances, morals and dignity.

Once the final race is over on Thursday all professionalism goes out the window as I jump on the pint-fuelled bandwagon with the swathe of racegoers.


For the majority of the week I’ve gone for Internet millionaire chic such as shorts, chinos and lumberjack shirts but with “fancy as f*ck” being the unofficial dress code of Ladies’ Day I whip out the suit to ensure that I look like a chunky Westlife wannabe for the evening.

Not since the last of the Lucky Charms adverts has an Irishman so craved the sustenance of home, and upon arriving into the city I tuck into what must be the first ever expensed Supermac’s snack box in the fast food chain’s illustrious history.

Once fully-fuelled we make our way to the Radisson Hotel which is unbelievable craic, housing more orange individuals than Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory (some evidence below).

RAD-IATING CHARM: Feilim goes in search of a shift at the Radisson

RAD-IATING CHARM: Feilim goes in search of a shift at the Radisson

Much like my betting for the week luck abandons me with the ladies when a cheeky young one messages me on Tinder looking for my more attractive pal’s number. Not one to be fettered I continue to rifle through the spot like a kid in a Lego box looking for the shift but my efforts prove to be as pointless Katie Price.

As far as hotspots go, the Radisson is ace with stacks of themed bars which means that you get to experience everything from a wedding to a dad’s disco all in the one spot.

However, a full day of hammering the bar does take its toll on punters and some of the stranger sights I witness included a woman drinking out of her high heels, a man asleep while sitting on a urinal and a man with a ginger beard scoring. Scoring who or what? I cannot remember. I just remember the ginger.

Battered and broken I arrive back to my hotel to get some much deserved kip only to be awoken by a pal from home to whom I mentioned that I was staying in the hotel.

So keen was he to avoid the taxi fare home that he decided to pretend to be me to get himself a key to my room.

Not exactly the spooning partner that I was after but I guess beggars can’t be choosers!

 

 

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