Forget Paris! In the future whenever I want a romantic weekend away with my lover it's going to be in one of the romantic and accessible capitals of Europe. It must be the place where cosmopolitan bustle meets laid back easy living; where years of history rise up and meet minimalist modernism and where standing on a small bridge, watching the night time city reflect its glory on the black waters of the river, enhances the most romantic time of my life.

Yes indeed, it's got to be Dublin for me from now on!

Most people's vision of the city is either the Molly Malone one of teaming bars, pints of Guinness, market stalls, flower sellers and street performers or the cultural one of the beauty of the long room, the grandeur of Trinity College, the history of Kilmainham Gaol and of course the wonders of the National Gallery. Then again it may be my mother's version of the shoppers paradise that is O'Connell Street with its upmarket windows and the hoards of side street bargain hunters that make a Saturday afternoon browse a must.

Yes, Yes, Yes! It's all of those versions and much, much more. To be in love and to be in Dublin, that's the thing. Trawling arm in arm through Temple Bar, winding your way through Trinity, leaving its library in breathless awe at its ancient quiet and magnificent Book of Kells. When you meander (and that's the only way to go) through the streets of Dublin, all life is there and you feel alive.

You can of course take a buggy and horse ride around the city or an open top bus tour - great if the feet aren't - but for me the only way to savour the flavour is to walk the walk.

Side winding your way through the back streets and cobbled alleyways that lead you, depending on your direction, up market to Grafton Street or down to the markets of Henry Street, will make your efforts on foot well worthwhile.

I have been to Dublin many times and have been in love with th
e city from my very first visit as a very overwhelmed, very impressed ten-year-old but to be IN love IN the the city is something else and I strongly recommend it.

Wandering through Temple Bar with its candlelit windows twinkling at you looking for somewhere to eat (knowing that you shouldn't have left it so late but food hadn't seemed that important then), conjures up a Spanish Paseo or French Boulevard. Spoiled for choice you decide on an Italian Bistro, share a plate of pasta, ciabatta and beautifully rich Chianti and watch the world go by - the perfect end to a perfect day.

If you have fallen into the rhythm and rhyme of the city, then by Sunday morning you will, like everyone else, be waking ever so slowly. And having missed hotel breakfast will be heading to Bewleys for a great Irish fry and a mug of their famous coffee. Take a leisurely read of the Sunday Journals and if you're lucky, find time to visit the National Gallery and perhaps stand in front of the Michael Angelo with tears in your eyes at the close proximity of such sheer genius and beauty.

I can't think of a better way to while away the rest of your Sunday than to down a pint or two in one of Dublin's many literary pubs, or find a little wine bar and spoil yourself with a glass of chilled white. In fact, have both if the mood takes you.

So you can keep Paris. For my money, "Take me back to Temple Bar and take my arm and trawl through city streets of candlelight where love wrapped round us like a shawl".