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Dublin: 9 °C Sunday 18 November, 2018
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WELL, THAT’S IT for another year.

The Texas Rose has taken the knives and forks, Dáithí survived the two nights, and once again they failed to air condition the Dome.

Seriously, they must all be making maggots under those tuxes.

Tonight the Rose of Tralee 2013 was crowned, and we were with you through it all.

Get in touch with your feelings, your hopes and your dreams: leave a comment below or tweet me @EmerTheScreamer or @DailyEdge.

Are you ready? Do you have the stamina for another night of Roses. Dáithí’s beard, and the secrets of the Dome?

Then you’ve come to the right place.

As we wait for Eastenders to end and the final of Rose of Tralee 2013 to begin, we can tell you that the Dome is up to NINETY!

It’s raining in Tralee!

Mind those high heels girls. We don’t want someone going on their snot on the Dome stage.

Pic: Kate McEvoy

Right, we’re off.

We have a sweepstake going in TheJournal.ie Towers. More on that later.

Dáithí has been caught rapid ordering chips.

I repeat, Dáithí has been caught rapid ordering chips! He’s a gas ticket.

Psst if you missed any of the action last night, you can catch up here.

Not a bit of it is made up, we swear.

The judging panel is a veritable mish-mash of glamour.

Mary Kennedy from RTÉ, a weight loss expert, and the winning Rose from 1991.

Get the autograph books out folks. Worth a fortune in ten years time.

First out is the London Rose, soundtracked suitably by the Eastenders theme.

She’s speaking very eloquently about her late Dad, doing him proud.

“Sometimes politics can be very dull” she says, discussing her degree in International Relations.

Dáithí has gone into a deep reverie of bordeom, as if to illustrate her point.

He soon perked up though, as he reminds the Rose that she was once on Britain’s Got Talent as a dancer.

She’s going to do it! She’s going to do the dance from Britain’s Got Talent.

Forget the judging panel… THIS is where the glamour’s at.

She’s doing a change of clothes backstage. WE WANT A SKIRT THAT WHIPS OFF TO REVEAL A SMALLER SKIRT! Sure isn’t that what the Rose of Tralee is all about?

There are disembodied illuminous legs doing an Irish dance on the stage.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

There’s an uncomfortable hint of those blacklight scenes from CSI off it, but hey Simon Cowell liked it. The divil.

Next up we have Rose #20, from Dunlavin in Wicklow (or “Wicklah”, if you’re going to be particular about it).

Sarah Whelan is a trained childrens’ book illustrator, and she’s a rower. So she could beat you up and then draw a lovely picture of you.

Just going to butt in here to let you know I have Melbourne in TheJournal.ie sweepstakes.

No bias here, but if she doesn’t win I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Texas Rose is up next, wearing a lovely green gúna.

(Shoutout here to my colleague Amy Croffey who has Haley in the Sweepstakes. She’s doing you proud so far Amy)

Haley’s Dad has been described by Dáithí as “the George Clooney of the place”.

Last night it was the mas, and now Dáithí is giving the das the glad eye. Pup.

Manchester Rose is next. She swept onto the stage to the strains of Coronation Street. Shocker.

HANG ON, STOP EVERYTHING, WE MAY HAVE A REVELATION IN THE COMMENTS!

That’s the spirit Amy! We will do some investigating and see if we can dig out some footage of that epic moment.

We have an update from the Dome. A refreshments update.

€1.00 for a bag of Tayto. €2.50 for water.

TWO FIFTY? You’re being had lads!

Pic: Kate McEvoy

The Manchester Rose also wrote a moving poem about her Granny, in which she also managed to tell Dáithí that he looked older than Uncle Gaybo.

Could we have an early leader*?

(Don’t worry Melbourne, I haven’t forgotten you)

The Donegal Rose lives in Dubai.

Naturally Dáithí has asked her about how easy it is to get a DRINK.

Sure isn’t she Irish?

Another poem? Where’s the hip hop? WHERE ARE THE MAGIC DISAPPEARING SKIRTS?

That’s the Donegal Rose’s boyfriend, beside another girl wearing a mask of his girlfriend’s face.

That has to be a bit weird, no?

What if he drops the lámh on her by mistake?

New York Rose is next. She’s a bit of a ride to be honest. Is that allowed? Can I call her a ride?

The New York Rose is singing a song she wrote herself. She’s not messing around.

It’s about her mammy, natch. The lyrics are stirring, stirring stuff.

Alright New York Rose, we’ve got our eye on you.

You sang a song, have a fine set of teeth, your Mammy looked suitably proud AND you arranged for it to be your birthday.

You crafty so-and-so.

News break time.

And what a lump of treats we’ve got for you… the truth about the Dome… the Name Your Talent Competition… and Roses from 20 years ago.

Okay, so we said we’d bring you the truth about the Dome, and dammit, we’re going to stick to our word.

We reached out to some people on the ground and learned some shocking truths:

  • It’s a tent. A TENT. With plywood floors and canvas sides that no doubt smell like hope, Baileys, and soupy farts.

  • It’s all killer, no filler

  • It’s as dark and cavernous and endless as it looks

But at the end of the day, it’s a tent. Not a Truman Show-esque other-worldly sphere of magic.

Hold us.

Another little news interval treat for you:

Ah come on girls, USE YOUR STRENGTH! (Julien Behal/PA Wire)

If you’re near a computer, get over to the RTÉ Player, where an Elvis impersonator is doing a Dixieland version of The Rose of Tralee.

Magic. Forget Galway Girl, forget Maniac 2000.

The talent so far this evening has been fair to middling.

We’ve had some glow-in-the-dark dancing, a fair few poems… sorry “recitals”, and a song about a mammy.

But we want to know, what would be YOUR talent?

Let us know in the comments section, or tweet us @dailyedge.

For the record, mine would be singing all of the words to We Didn’t Start the Fire.

What? That’s cool? Right? RIGHT?

*breaks down in liveblog-induced tears*


YouTube/Subher0

Conflicting opinions in the comments section about the weather report live from the Dome:

What do you think? He’s playing a blinder in fairness. Imagine the heat and the smell akin to the backseat of a Ford Focus travelling from the Wesht to Croke Park on a big match day?

THE WASHINGTON ROSE HAS THREATENED TO HAVE DÁITHÍ WHACKED!

He said her family looked like mob members.

We think you look lovely gentlemen. Lovely teeth. Law-abiding teeth.

The Washington Rose is from an Italian family, but she’s adopted and is Irish American by birth.

She found her biological mother and traced her Irish roots, leading her to become a Rose of Tralee.

Last night we had the cod, the proposal, the rum, the leaba.

WHERE IS OUR COD? WHERE IS OUR LEABA?

COMEDY! SHE’S GOING TO DO COMEDY?!

Grand. The comedy is grand. It’s more of a scene from a play really.

Like, it’ll always be hard to top the 2012 Dublin Rose.


Never forget.

The New Zealand Rose is up next… Judina is a structural engineer in Christchurch helping with the rebuild.

She’s also let slip that her dad was “probably in the pub” when she was born. Good man.

Judina is reciting Digging by Seamus Heaney, and we’re all back in Junior Cert English, daydreaming about Big Lunch and doodling on Soundings.

Sydney Rose. Ride. To be fair.

Latest word from the Dome:

The bar has closed until after the announcement.

Thanks @NiovCurls for this important information.

The Sydney Rose is singing Caledonia.

If you’re playing a Rose of Tralee drinking game, you should sink about six shots right now.

The Sydney Rose’s mam (also a bit of a ride to be fair) loves the Rose of Tralee so much that they’ve given her her own sash.

Sydney is right on the tails of New York and Leitrim now surely (not forgetting my beloved Melbourne of course).

She sang Caledonia AND her ma got special treatment.

SCANDAL! WE HAVE A SCANDAL! (Thank God, says I)

They spelled Killarney wrong on the Sydney Rose’s ma’s sash.

Morto. Someone get a committee going or something. We’re going to take this all the way to the top.

(kudos to the eagle eyes of @Brenflakes and @GavReilly for spotting that)

A good poem! A really good poem!

Lisa, the Liverpool Rose wrote a poem that mentioned Father Ted, Suarez, tea and included the line:

Jay would do the right thing and get back with 5ive.

AMEN SISTER!

The next Rose admits that she sometimes bleaches her teeth to much.

We’ll just leave this here:

It’s just like the dancing from earlier. Get your wan with the legs back out and we’ll get the other one to smile and turn out the lights.

Second last Rose is from California.

This can only mean one thing; the performance by former Westlife man Shane Filan, which Dáithí has been threatening for two night now, must be close.

Dozens of people are excited. Dozens.

The Californian Rose is half Irish-half Armenian.

Naturally Dáithí has brought up the Kardashians (who are also Armenian). He seems to think one of them is called Kate.

Poor dote. He’s been through a lot. Someone wrap him up in a duvet when all this is finished and park him in front of a KUWTK marathon on E!

Are we finally going to have a mention of road frontage?

Dáithí is asking the Californian Rose about land. Irish people love land.

It’s the final Rose!

Dear tiny 8lb baby Jesus, let her whip out a cod, whip off her skirt, whip out a bed? We deserve it!

Jessica Giggey is the North Carolina Rose.

To introduce the Roses, funny pictures of them as children are flashed up on screen before they come on.

Jessica’s is reminiscent of Hannibal Lector, to be honest.

Let’s not forget what these Roses are all fighting for.

Forget the fame and fortune and awe of the whole country… THEY GET A WHOLE SET OF CUTLERY!

It’s the type of set you put in a special press in the Good Room at home and take it out for Christmas. You know the ones.

A montage. Finally, a montage.

Set to the dubious lyrics of Blurred Lines, but a montage nonetheless.

This is surely highlight:

No Áine, no he didn’t.

We didn’t have any skirts whipped off for a job either. Disappointing.

Shane Filan is on stage, singing his new song.

The opening line:

Life is like a jigsaw, you don’t know where to start.

Stunning shots of people in the audience checking their phones.

Right, we’re nearly there.

The staff of TheJournal.ie are on the edge of their seats. Who will win the sweepstake? Who will have to buy all the pints?

Last year’s Lovely Girl is on stage, telling us about her year (she made Barack Obama take TWO pictures with her because he blinked in the first one).

She’ll have to hand over that crown soon. And do her best not to take someone’s eye out in the process.

Have you seen it? It’s a WEAPON!

Snigger. The man with the envelope thanked the escorts’ “stamina”.

DURTY.

Dáithí has memorised something about every Rose.

JUST TELL US WILL YOU!?

TEXAS! It’s TEXAS! GREEN GÚNA!

GIVE HER HER KNIVES AND FORKS!

Haley O’Sullivan and the way she might look at you, with a moist eye and a well-turned ankle.

(We haven’t forgotten the weird side beard by the way Dáithí. We’ll be watching)

Limerick Lassie in the comments has the last word:

Now off to bed all of ye. I said “bed” as soon as ’twas announced.

God bless us, everyone.

Oh wait, one last thing, our Amy Croffey won the sweepstakes. She drew Texas, and now has to buy the drinks.

There are already mutterings of “fix” coming from the Sports Desk and certain members of the Tech Team are cancelling a prematurely organised Donegal victory party.

God bless us, everyone. Again.

About the author:

Emer McLysaght

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