I am feeling tired and emotional after my trek to work this morning. I am not using ‘tired and emotional’ as a euphemism for being drunk in this instance. I am actually tired and emotional after my two and a half hour journey. Continue reading The never-ending journey
Morose I sat, on the bus to the wastelands. Outside the window, a gentle shower of snow was forming a grimy sludge by the roadside.
It was Friday. In less than a fortnight the days will be getting longer again.
Suddenly my interest was piqued. Who were these three individuals boarding my bus? I didn’t recognise them – and I tend to know the regulars on this journey. They seemed fairly ordinary looking, but had a little extra panache that is unusual around these here parts. Continue reading It’s Panto season : The Dublin Bus edition
Now that we are plumbing the depths of winter, with daylight a distant, hazy memory, and climate conditions that would chill you to the bone, my trek to work to the industrial wastelands has become virtually intolerable. My work place itself, is in the November of locations – a singularly dank, grey, miserable, depressing, ugly part of town.
The journey has become a relentless obstacle course.
For starters, you never know when or whether the bus is going to arrive. The road which was closed while the tram track was being built, has now reopened. It’s since become a lottery whether or not you’ll end up standing by the side of the road, like a streetwalker, waiting for half an hour. In the dark, biting cold. Continue reading Love on the No. 40
I called into my usual greasy spoon for my morning cup of coffee, using my last 2 euro coin to pay for it. Wishing the nice woman behind the counter a good weekend I exited the shop. Before slumping at the bus stop outside to await the vehicle’s arrival. It would whisk me off to a black and white, monochrome land – the reverse of the Wizard of Oz. I was going to wake up in the bleak, grey world of Kansas – also known as the industrial wastelands. Continue reading ‘Sorry bud. We don’t take notes.’
I have started boarding the bus to the wastelands, four stops later than what has traditionally been my boarding point. As the mornings are shortening, I am finding it more of a challenge to peel myself from my pit. Hence I am leaving the house later. If I walk a marginally longer route to this new point, I can save myself seven minutes extra in a morning. For an evening person, these extra seven minutes in the scratcher each day, are more precious than gold dust.
The only problem with boarding the bus on the fourth stop, is that my aromatic fellow travellers take liberties. They regularly sit in my designated seat. I will admit that I am joking – to an extent – when I claim to be obsessive compulsive about sitting in the same spot each day. The reality is that I am slightly more easy going. I’ll sit anywhere – but I’ll do a quick analysis before committing to a place. Continue reading I’m going to wastelands, wastelands.
When I get my driving license (whenever that may be – I have the test in a month, but I am well aware of how tricky it can be to pass, so I need to stay realistic) I do not ever want to get into breakfast discussions with colleagues, about the traffic on the way to work in the morning. I’ve just had the most mind-numbingly dull bowl of porridge, and boiled egg of my life – and these are not thrilling foodstuffs at the best of times.
This morning my breakfast companions were all male. I don’t want to engage in stereotypes about the sexes, and I am a firm believer in equal opportunity for everyone. However I have observed that there is a distinct difference in the topics of conversation over morning gruel, depending on whether you sitting with men or women. Continue reading Men v women – why I will go straight to hell
I had an early night last night. I wanted to feel refreshed and energetic for the day. The long weekend in Amsterdam was still working its way through my system. By Thursday however I ought be feeling revivified.
Having finished my bottle of manly anti-perspirant the previous morning, I got dressed after my shower today, without dousing myself in freshness. Continue reading The smell of adventure
Days like this are dangerous for your career. Continue reading Days like this
This blog post will not be new to anyone sees my Facebook updates.
However seeing as it concerns my bus journey to work, I want to store it in a more permanent and accessible location than Zuckerberg’s platform – I have vague notions of turning these accounts of my daily trek to the wastelands into a musical (called ‘Why Me?’ – the theme song will be a voiceover, by the angelic Linda Martin – aged 39.)
That last paragraph is not remotely true, except for wanting to compile stories of my bus journeys in a central location. People seem to enjoy these journeys far more than I do. And I can smell potential.
On Thursday morning I had a dental appointment. Afterwards feeling all tender, I made my way to the top of O’Connell Street, to reach the bus, to whisk me away to the nothingness of my work location. I turned left onto Parnell Street.
The gathered crowd and the wailing shrieks on the pavement outside the electronics store Cash Encounters, drew my attention. Continue reading Dirty old Dublin town
I know that I often moan about my journey to work in the morning, and about how I find it to be lengthy and tiresome. Well that’s my own choice I guess, thanks to my desire to live close to town – even though I work in the industrial wastelands of county Dublin.
That said, it is rare that I make comment on how difficult the job of the bus driver can be. And how they can display an admirable patience in the face of some blatant hostility. Continue reading The hero of Dublin Bus – and the speccy-four-eyed b*ll*x.