There's a song that has the lyrics, about a drunk Irishman singing of home:

"He sings his songs of Ireland far away,

and of how he's going back to Dublin one fine day."

but carries on:

"And the Ireland of his heart's recall, If it ever did exist at all,

Now only lives and wistfully moves,

Through Paddy's dreams."

So many of our memories are very... rose-tinted.