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As an Irish citizen, born and bred in the Emerald Isles, it has become a right of passage to watch the Rose of Tralee for two nights in August, every single summer.
We've all been there. Running to get to the telly for half past nine, with your PJ's and some chocolate with all the girls in the house.
As children we idolise these women, we ogle the dresses, we watch how the jewellery gleams in the light and try to retain how they did their makeup so we can copy them later on. The mothers say how lovely the girls are for their volunteer work in Africa and how they have lovely singing voices.