He happened to be black and dreadlocked. "Hey, we've got a Rastafarian on our hands, " she screeched, before demanding that her friend take a photograph of her and this curiosity probably to display proudly on her Bebo page the next day. "Hey man, do you know the guys from Cool Runnings?" she continued, before launching into a wail of "Jamaica we have a bob sleigh team" as I contemplated how I could smack her face without getting thrown out and my friends decided she was in fact a hallucination brought on by someone spiking our drinks as no one that annoying could possibly exist.

This, of course, isn't racism, it's just stupidity. In general, most Irish people aren't racist. Those who feel the need to make remarks like the idiot above did are stupid and ignorant. They're the same kind of people who think pummelling, insulting or stealing items of clothes is the best way to flirt in the pub, or do stripper dances in front of taxis after pouring out of a nightclubs.

They're gas, they are.

Last Monday, David McWilliams came to the conclusion of his latest television series Generation Game. The general gist of it . . . and some of this might be sketchy because I couldn't really get the essence of the point, so mesmerised was I by the recurring aerial shots of multi-coloured cargo crates and McWilliams skulking around a graveyard . . . was that we need to harness the energy of the Irish diaspora via bringing loads of smart people back from Argentina. Or something.

Although I'm not against dumping a load of hot South Americans into our population, there is something a little rotten underneath this illogical notion.

McWilliams introduced some bright and shiny immigrants who have come to Ireland, juxtaposing their enthusiasm for education and creativity with the thick static dullness of Irish people snorting breakfast rolls off the dashboards of their Porsche Cayenne's on the M50.

The immigrant community in Ireland has made a great contribution to Irish society.

Apart from propping up our workforce, anyone who even glosses the surface of newIreland be it gorging on cheap Korean food on Parnell Street in Dublin or heading along to a Polish hip hop night, must feel grateful for a non-synthetic cultural variety introduced by 10% of Ireland's population.

In a similar fashion, Irish people left this country and contributed somewhat to the development of various nations around the world. You would think McWilliams and co would do their sums and realise that our immigrant community will foster the change and development of Ireland for years to come. No, his reasoning was to bring the old Irish back. They went off to foreign countries and got edjumacated, so let's kidnap them to save us from the great unknown while our non-Irish population is busy inventing hover cars, getting PhDs and cackling at how stupid the natives are, perhaps while villainously petting a fluffy cat. In a twirly chair.

Just published this week is a hardback called What Are We Feckin' Like? . . . a book that attempts to send up the eejits that all we Irish are. Examples include the 'Big Thick Culchie' ("the female culchie drinks and dresses with equal sophistication and also has hairy legs and armpits, and child-bearing hips so big she looks capable of having a hurling team all in one go"), Gurrier, ("as a rule, gurriers mate with skangers behind skips before setting them on fire"), Middle Class Protestant ("not only were the jammy hoors all loaded, thanks to their evil Brit ancestors raping and pillaging our fair land. . .") and so on. It would be inoffensive if it wasn't so devoid of humour. This love of beating ourselves up, making ourselves as Irish people out to be only two pints away from eating turf and crawling on all fours to lick the slops off the bar, is ridiculous conduct. And it's a lie. Like McWilliams, many commentators revel in making the Irish populous out to be the equivalent of Bart and Homer strapping saucepans to their heads and charging at each other for entertainment. It's false and it undermines our collective brain power. If we are so thick, then how did we get here in the first place? Our biggest enemies, detractors and doubters, are ourselves. You'd think at this stage, with all that cocaine McWilliams talks about, we'd have a bit of confidence.

But back to my nearlythumped lady that began this rant. Surely, she proves that this is what we are feckin' like. Idiotic, drunk, annoying, ignorant. Not quite. During her tirade, most outside looked on aghast, cigarettes dangling precariously shocked from lower lips. "Good God!" they cried (in less polite terms). Because you see, she was on her own on this. A very, very small minority, thank the lord. "I have to get away from her, " her friend muttered, "my head is exploding." Mine too, honey.

'The Generation Game' by David McWilliams is published by Gill and Macmillan 'What are We Feckin' Like?' by Colin Murphy and Donal O'Dea is published by O'Brien