5 Star Trustpilot Customer RatingThe Number One UK Supplier of Officially Licensed Posters & MerchandiseFree Delivery in the UK for orders over £25 GAA Limerick Maxi PosterProduct Number:SP1250The official club crest of Limerick, one of the major teams in the league. Add a FrameFinish your poster off with a bespoke frameFrameFrame:61x91.5cm Maxi Flat Black MDF Frame (+£19.99)Edit Frame -- Please Select --View AllEton 30mmAluminium 20mmArtcore 30mmArtcore 40mmAzure 30mm Email to Friend Maxi Poster61x91.5cmTop Quality, High Resolution ArtworkPrinted On 150gsm PaperHang On Your Walls With Pride Our posters are usually dispatched within 1 working day of placing your order. Dispatch times can be longer sometimes due to stock limitations, if this is the case we shall endeavour to contact you as soon as possible to discuss. Our posters are sent via Royal Mail please allow 3-4 working days from dispatch for delivery.Please see our delivery and returns page for full information.

About Our Maxi PostersPosters are the bedrock of everything we do at GB Posters and the maxi size format continues to be our most popular size and a customer favourite. All our maxi posters measure 61x91.5cm and are printed on 150gsm high gloss paper using high resolution artwork which really brings these stunning images to life. The perfect poster for people wanting to display their favourite images large and proud!Despatching Our Maxi PostersWe take every possible step to ensure our maxi posters remain dust and crease free and get delivered to you in perfect condition. We use a state of the art rolling machine to tightly roll the poster which is then shrink wrapped before being put in a bespoke cardboard posting tube to make its way to you! Ordered more than one poster? Be sure to unroll the package fully first – our expert despatch team roll posters together to save you on postage costs!I deliberately avoided Sydney during my first year in Australia, but living among all the other Irish in Bondi now gives me a lot of what I missed of Irish life from home, writes Ciara Flynn.

Irish people are easily recognisable abroad. We seem to be endowed with a catalogue of features and mannerisms which easily set us apart from other races. We sizzle in the sun and tend to stare up at tall buildings, looking puzzled. Bondi in particular boasts peak conditions for casually playing “spot the Paddy”. A beachside suburb of Sydney , it is affectionately nicknamed “County Bondi” due to the considerable number of Irish emigrants who call it home. I am one of them. When I first departed the nest, I tactfully avoided the word “emigration” for my mother’s sake. Armed with a fistful of cash, backpack and a working holiday visa, I vowed to return within a year. I even believed my own propaganda. It was merely a temporary escape from the gloomy recession. I was a college graduate after all. There would surely be an abundance of job opportunities vying for my attention “later”. I spent my first year in Australia living like a vagabond, collecting a range of exotic experiences and having the time of my life.

I deliberately avoided Sydney. Rumour and tale floated around the untidy hostel dorms, depicting the city as being just like home. It was apparently too easy to “get stuck” there. I travelled instead, priding myself on partaking in authentic Aussie experiences. obus forme laptop backpackI went fishing, shooting and four wheel driving. backpack turkce ceviriI swam with whalesharks and canoed gorges. mono efx backpackI worked hard at an array of casual jobs – barwork in rural farming towns, packing fish in a cold fish factory and vegetable picking under the blistering sun.joey t1 backpack

As time wore on however, I found myself missing the little things about home. I longed for Tayto crisps, real chocolate and proper sausages. I missed talking without thinking. I had to speak extremely slowly to be understood. kerry gaa backpackEach time an Australian gleefully shouted “potato” at me in a mock leprechaun accent, my sharp reply was met with a blank look, all witticism lost in translation.bolang backpack Worst of all, I was missing GAA season. I had begun watching AFL as a consolation and was even winning the pub footy tipping at one stage. But the dizzy heights of the tipping table couldn’t compare with Parnell Park on a crisp summers evening. Yet it had become clear that going home was simply not an option. The idea of seeking sponsorship slowly became a legitimate long term option.

By the time my second year visa kicked in, I had decided it was time to settle down a bit and build a life of sorts. The day I arrived in Bondi Junction, it was like coming home. There is no challenge playing “spot the Paddy” here. On sunny days, pasty sun worshippers trek to Bondi beach in their droves, often sporting rather alarming farmer tans, wearing flowery shorts and carrying their beach gear in plastic bags. The Tea Gardens Hotel on the main street does a roaring trade every evening when it becomes inundated with Irish workmen in heavy boots and hi-vis tops, who call in for a few sociable post-work schooners and a chinwag. Local parks and pitches are frequently occupied by dedicated GAA men and women honing their skills. The standard is quite high and anybody expecting to join a “drinking team with a sports problem” will be left disappointed and probably coughing up a lung after a few laps. The newsagents stock Irish food, the pubs feature Irish bands and one of the bottle shops even sells real Buckfast, apparently the only outlet in Sydney to do so (they also charge thirty odd dollars for the privilege).

Life is pretty good in County Bondi. I share a tiny two bedroom flat with five other people. Dublin, Cork and Kerry are all represented in the house and despite the inevitable good natured banter and outdated references to the War of Independence, we all cohabit somewhat peacefully. Occasionally we even look out for one another. My best friend and travel companion Gemma works for Taste Ireland, the company responsible for importing Barry’s teabags and other delicacies. Sometimes she arrives home laden with treats for our little family. The subsequent excitement is comparable only to Christmas morning. I bar tend at Scruffy Murphys, a well known 24-hour bar where the clientele is rather curiously Asian by day and Irish by night. I’ve met people I haven’t seen in years and exchanged stories with emigrants from every corner of Ireland. One evening I shared a pleasant conversation with a middle-aged Dublin couple who had flown out to visit their son. As they were leaving, she marched behind the bar and wrapped me in a fierce hug.

“That’s all the way from your own Mammy,” she told me tearfully. I also do some administration work at the Irish Echo newspaper. To this end, I deal with subscribers via telephone who are almost exclusively Irish and elderly. They hear my accent and are often eager to chat; one man recently told me he’d been living in Australia for 57 years. He didn’t sound a day out of Finglas. I’d hate to be misunderstood. I am incredibly fond of Australia and appreciative of its attributes. Only a truly great nation can, for instance, casually implement a working day which features three break times per shift. I have travelled the length and breadth of this land and think it spectacular. I watch Australian television, listen to Australian news and enjoy the company of Australian friends. Some Aussie slang has even crept into my vocabulary (I challenge anybody to live here and not resort to saying “aaay?” instead of “what?”). But as the song goes, my heart is in Ireland.