We celebrate two decades of Riverdance
EVERYONE remembers their first time. Where they were… who they were with… what they were wearing (or not wearing). We remember the wild flailing of legs and rising passion. The slow rhythm building to a screaming, joyful, grateful release...
I’ll stop this now as it’s making me slightly ill. We’re talking here about the night 20 years ago that pre-Celtic Tiger Ireland lost its virginity to Michael Flatley. The night that many cynical, trad-music-and-dance-hating young Irelanders realised that our culture could actually be sexy. Even if it had a mullet.

