I've eaten more potatoes in a fortnight than I probably would in a year back home. I've even had the odd black pudding, despite my vow upon first trying the congealed pigs' blood in England a decade earlier never to touch them again. I've lodged in some charming Irish B&Bs with real character. I've enjoyed plenty of craic on the odd pub crawl and tapped my foot to traditional jigs, reels and ballads involving Celtic harps, fiddles, flutes, tin whistles, accordions, drums ... and let's not forget, a hurdy gurdy in Galway. I've even ridden in a Belfast black cab.