I woke up with a fuzzy head and rather hazy memories of the evening before. The phone rang beside my hotel bed and I picked it up. It was then that I realised I was fully-dressed with my mascara askew. It was my chauffeur informing me - very fortunately - that my flight back to London from Dublin had been cancelled due to the wrath unleashed by Storm Doris. It had been raining tea cakes and doilies - and after clocking on to my dishevelled telephone manner my driver advised me to go back to bed and wait to catch a later lift. The trigger for my descent was a rather awesome introduc...