Dear Clare, (or, as I call you now, Your Highness),
When you told me, many months back, that you were considering entering the Rose of Tralee, I said I would slag you mercilessly. But now you’ve won the title, and I’m not jealous, not jealous at all. (Ahem.) And I certainly didn’t try on your tiara when you weren’t looking and take pictures of myself wearing it. No sir-ee.
I’m sure you know by now that we’re all terribly proud of you. So proud of you, in fact, that we almost tore the Dome down when they announced you were the winner, that we screeched like banshees until our throats were raw (mine still hasn’t fully recovered), and that we threw our arms around every stranger in Tralee.
It’s been an absolutely hectic few days, and that’s just for me! You were so busy you needed a time-keeper, a woman who followed you around everywhere and made sure you only spent the allotted time doing the allotted task. “Hug now, kiss now, eat now, leave now”. And that was all before the actual festival itself even started!
It was a crazy rollercoaster of a week, and I still haven’t had time to take it all in and reflect on it, but this letter, I hope, will serve as a reminder of some of the maddest moments. Like a few hours after you’d won, when you’d made your speeches, done the entire parade through the town, arrived back at the Dome for the after-party, then shouted “What happened?” in my ear.
Or when you only managed 90 minutes’ sleep that night, then had someone rush in to do your hair and make-up in bed so that, when the press arrived at 7a.m., it looked like you’d just woken up with a full face of make-up, a full head of curls, and the sash over your shoulder. Au naturel, like.
From the moment you won, all our mobile phones lit up. I remember staring in disbelief as your brother showed me his phone, and the number of texts and calls increased by the second. We were shocked by the reaction, but not that you’d won; we all knew you were a winner. (So much so that more than a few of us put our hard-earned money where our mouth is and took to the gambling. In fact, the only person who begrudges you your victory is Paddy Power.)
Everyone you had ever met and even some you hadn’t was eager to extend their congratulations. Everywhere you went, people wanted to talk to you, to have their picture taken with you, to get your autograph. And, though you had had minimal sleep, very little food, and only a few minutes with your family, you happily obliged every single one of those people.
And that’s just one of the reasons you now wear that crown. These six hundred words will never be enough to even begin to list the others, but hopefully you’ll get some idea from the hundreds of messages you’ve received, from all the hugs and handshakes, texts and tears (plenty of my own), emails and introductions, cards and claps, gifts and good wishes.
You’ve won the heart of everyone you’ve met, and you’ve won me a few quid. It was the most gruelling week I’ve ever experienced, surviving on a few snatched hours of sleep, a few packets of Hula Hoops, and more costume changes than a Madonna concert. (Good thing I never travel light.) I am physically, mentally and emotionally drained. And I would do it all again in the morning.
So, dear Rose, this is the second column I’m dedicating to you; it’s the least you deserve. I hope now you’ll realise how truly exceptional you are. We’ve been friends for almost 20 years, and I can’t wait for the next 20. You’re an inspiration, and I love you lots.
Hugs and bubbles,
Loz