To judge a country, or city, as anything less than brilliant, simply because it has a different and surprising ways of being crap than your major city, would be actions of a fool. That said, 75% of the people I’ve interacted with in Dublin are grumpy and abrupt. It just seems to be a customer service thing – frown and say nothing until the customer makes the greeting, explains themselves (‘Shoorley tayre’s a raeson yuv com in hayre, is tayre? Are yeh wantin’ somtehn?’ they say to you, with their brickish faces). It’s not bad, it’s just totally different. It’s the town, or the way that I see the town. And I love the town. The town pushes you away, is rigid, hard and difficult, and it doesn’t care who you are or where you come from. It’ll ask you where you’re from – and apologise for it’s weather when you tell it – but it doesn’t actually care. Because all there is is Ireland, all there is is Dublin, and nothing else matters. The rest of the world is privileged to be here, and they can leave when they’re done, and carry their rubbish out when they go. But that’s one of the endearing things about Dublin. I don’t mind it, and I’d like to be here. I all honesty – it’s my kind of town. No one here tells you that you should smile more. I’m meant for it.
That’s all I feel like writing – I’m off writing this afternoon. Here is a bullet point list of the things I was going to write about:
Grumpy Irish- bus drivers
Shakepeare at Milano’s
Andrew and the guy at the Viking museum who said that there were only a couple of days’ worth of stuff to do in Dublin
The apple farm
The decision to read everything at the book table at the Writers’ Festival thing I went to (list and possible explanation to follow).