I know I’m still telling you about what happened in Donegal, but I just want to mention the Fleadh – because it was the most mental thing that has ever happened in Belfast, and that’s saying something.

I’ll try to sum it up in a couple of short paragraphs.

We went up on the bus on Saturday along with what seemed like the whole of Tyrone – I’ve since been informed that Saturday was dubbed “Culchie Day” by the locals.

True, there were a lot of browners, GAA jerseys, plastic glasses of Guinness, and a few hallion-battalion Céilí swings to navigate, but there were so many people everywhere you turned, it was like a mixed herbs of All-Ireland Sunday, the Rio Carnival, last night at the Gaeltacht, the Pamplona bull run, and the Twelfth – all with Dickensian street urchins playing dodgy tin whistle, their caps overflowing with coins and notes.

David Adams: People ask me what a ‘New Ireland’ looks like. I saw it at the Fleadh last week

Newton Emerson: How to stop Sinn Féin’s little wobble becoming a big wobble

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