I went to Cork for St Patrick’s Day – and despite the short turnaround, something in me has quietly reset. I was talking to my Mum about it, and there’s a feeling of safety and ‘home’ in Ireland that we both immediately feel upon arrival.
Most people assume I’m British. The accent does that. But I come from a very big Irish family – culturally, and in terms of my DNA, I consider myself Irish. There’s a little Scottish in there, too, but Ireland is where the roots go deepest. I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever felt British – but I’ve definitely felt like a Londoner. If that makes sense.
People seem to love being Irish or having a proximity to it in 2026. In a way that would have baffled my younger self, because being Irish in a South-East London school wasn’t exactly a social asset.
There was some name-calling and stereotypes. My friend Catriona had it worse – she carried her parents’ accent, and that made her a target in ways I was spared. Our parents stuck together, and I spent my childhood in an Irish diaspora spread out across the corners of South London.
I don’t begrudge anyone their Irishness, adopted or inherited. As long as the history – the real history and the brutal weight of it – is understood, what’s the harm? Ireland earned its moment, and I love seeing people love it. Most people’s idea of Ireland is still rolling green hills, catholic churches, and a permanent, misty, soft drizzle. Father Ted country. It’s an image that’s never quite gone away.
But spend a few days in Cork (which I recommend), and that version of the country starts to look not just outdated but almost inverted. This is a place that legalised same-sex marriage by popular vote before the UK had even finished arguing about it. Walking through the winding roads and lanes of the city centre, you’re met with anti-racist artwork, LGBTQ+ progress flags, Palestinian liberation murals – which aren’t tucked into corners but painted big and bright. Many pubs and bars proudly display messages of inclusion at the bar.
Some shop windows do too. And on Sullivan’s Quay, a mural stretching some 50 metres carries a quote from James Connolly, written in 1908: “Let no Irishman throw a stone at the foreigner; he may hit his own clan.” Anti-xenophobia, attributed to a socialist republican executed by the British.
I’ll say it plainly: Ireland, culturally, feels miles ahead of the UK right now.
That’s not something I expected to be writing.
We visited during the summer as kids. I’ve always loved being around my big family. My grandmother was a child of 8, not unusual for Ireland in the 1930s, so there was always a sprawling mass of aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends to fold yourself into.
Her baby brother Carl was paralysed from the waist down after a workplace accident, but you’d never have known it defined him, because it didn’t. His constant good nature, warmth, and grace are something I carry with me to this day. The happiest, jolliest, kindest man you’d ever meet. He used to let me fly around the garden in his wheelchair while he sat there giggling at the absurdity of it. I think about that image a lot. Mum talks about him the way you talk about someone who changed how you see things.
Carl represented Ireland at the 1972 Heidelberg Paralympics, competing in para athletics throwing events, part of a growing Irish delegation quietly building something to feel triumphant about. He didn’t let his wheelchair get in the way of living – and I understood that even as a child. He represented something bigger than himself without ever making a fuss about it.
In March 2026, he was honoured by Paralympics Ireland. On this trip, I met his son Brendan – a mini Uncle Carl in every way. That same warmth, all over again. I feel lighter for having seen him.
Now I’m home. Back in London. London has spent decades telling itself it’s the progressive one – the open city, the tolerant one. But tolerance and progress aren’t the same thing, and Cork, a city most Londoners couldn’t point to on a map, is making that distinction visible.
Meanwhile, Britain feels like it’s moving backwards. Racism, homophobia, transphobia – all of it is harder to ignore than it was.
I came back with my senses refreshed and my allegiances confirmed. Some countries earn their reputation the hard way. Ireland earned it, and I’m incredibly proud to be Irish.
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