We asked native Irish speaker MICHELLE NIC PHÁIDÍN to try to spend a day in Dublin speaking only as Gaeilge. She gave up the challenge as impossible after only an hour.

Standing at the number 10 bus stop in the pouring rain my phone rings. It is a friend that I have not spoken to in more than a year. My immediate reaction is to speak Irish, my native language. "Bhfuil tú sa bhaile?" I scream excitedly. Before she has a chance to answer, a huge howl bellows from behind me: "Go back to your own country, ya scum."

I put my phone in my bag, my cheeks red with temper and glare at the houses across the street, happy in the knowledge that I had not been spat at. He stands behind me as I get on the bus, obviously hoping that I have trouble getting a ticket in my foreign language, his friends fall in a supportive line behind him.

"€1.20", I say in clear, concise English and walk down the bus, knowing that he has been made to look a fool of in front of everyone.

In the capital of a state where Irish is supposed to be the first official language, life as a Gaelgeoir can be very difficult. To survive for a day speaking Irish would be impossible.

Going to Easons I cheated; I asked in English for the Irish language magazine Comhar.

Without looking up at me, the girl said: "We don't sell foreign language magazines."

Controlling my laughter, I said: "Comhar is produced here in Ireland and is written in Gaeilge."

"Oh," she says, "You mean Irish, I think it is over there, it is here somewhere."

She did not apologise for her comment and I just kept thinking that there is no other country that would treat their national language with such poor regard. It was at this stage, an hour into my mission, that I gave up.

Someone said to me recently that Irish speakers cannot do anything without going to prison, going on hunger strike or lobbying and my reply was "you try and live the life of a Gaelgeoir and we'll see how many hot dinners you'll be eating next week".

Nowadays, we have the luxury of listening to Radio na Gaeltachta, watching TG4, reading Lá and Foinse and we can surf websites like Craiceáilte and Beo. But it wasn't always so.

The biggest difficulty for any Irish language speaker in this country is their name. When I rang several Civil Service departments, I decided to pluck up the courage and speak in Irish again. It wasn't long before I was forced to speak in English and when I said my name was Michelle Nic Pháidín there was consternation.

One civil servant let out a long-winded breath at the other end of the phone and then said: "What is that in English?"

When you ask if there are any Irish-speakers there who might be able to help you, you might as well have asked them for Tutankhamun to be resurrected. The Department of Social and Family Affairs is always a problem for me. It does not, and does not want to, understand the difference between a Nic and an Ó.

The passport office is infamous for its inability to deal with people who want to either change their names to the Irish version or with people whose names are in Irish.

But banks are without a doubt the thorn in my side, from a financial and linguistic point of view. I rang up to inquire about my balance. To get this information you need to supply your name, date of birth and address.

Unfortunately, the bank has been sending letters to my address for the past six years addressing me as Michelle Nic Thaidin and when I say my name to them on the phone they seldom question me why my T sounds like an F.

On the plus side I have never had any problems giving my address in Irish but things can go wrong. I went into the bank and when asked for my address, I gave her the usual story. The cashier looked questioningly at me and gave me a printout and said: "Is this it?" To my astonishment it had an address I had lived at six years ago.

Despite having to put up with these things on a daily basis, Irish-speakers still have many places where they can feel at home in Dublin.

There's always a refuge in Club an Chonradh which has a friendly atmosphere, traditional music and good Guinness. People always get the impression that only bearded zealots and sandal-wearing lunatics with beer bellies go to Irish clubs but they should take a look in the door at Sult, a club in Christchurch. There you will witness young fashionable people just the same as you would in any other trendy bar in Dublin.

Contrary to popular belief you don't have to be fluent in Donegal Irish to get in. If you want, you can listen to some world music in a friendly candle-lit atmosphere.

Legally, things are looking up since the Official Languages Act, 2003, became law on July 14 and this will ensure the delivery of services through the Irish language.

Even more encouraging at grass-roots level is that more children than ever are speaking Irish in Dublin due to the gaelscoileanna.

A Dublin mother once told me a story that I have often mused at. A woman was pushing her child in a pram through Dunnes Stores and at the same time talking to her son in Irish. A woman came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder and said: "Is that Irish you're speaking to your child?"

The lady was a little taken aback and said that of course it was Irish. The lady wrinkled her nose and whispered in a confidential manner: "Does the child mind?"

This story always brings a smile to my face because I understand that the stigma around speaking Irish is a thing of the past. There was a time when "slán" and "go raibh maith agat" were as good as curse words but now all that has changed. There is a lot of goodwill towards Irish and people smile a knowingly at you on the street when they realise you are speaking Irish. Dublin police are beginning to understand a certain grasp of the language might be a very useful asset.

People also realise that the Irish culture is the epicentre of a very profitable tourist trade and that every effort should be made to promote the language the music and the arts. Dublin has become home to a multicultural mosaic of languages in the past few years and people tend to place the Irish language in the same category, a language that coexists with the rest.

But I'll never feel at home like I do in my own 'country' - the Donegal Gaeltacht.

- Michelle Nic Pháidín