When I started my career of doom, in the industrial wasteland of county Dublin, it was a cold, dark period of my life. It was November – always the grimmest, most miserable time of the year. Continue reading R.I.P. colleague
I have written previously about how shockingly difficult it is to reach one of the largest industrial estates in the country, on public transport, during rush hour, every morning. A place where tens of thousands of people work, served by such a primitive and unreliable service, clearly ought to be regarded as a problem. The problem is simple – the 40D bus from Parnell Street to Ballycoolin Industrial Estate is ‘The Bus that Never Arrives’. If I arrive at 8.25am for the 8.30am service then the bus will arrive at 8.44am. If you crawl out of bed early to make the 8.15am service then it will rock up at 8.44am. Continue reading Dublin Bus 40D – the emblem of failure
Like the wailing from the lost souls in hell, my alarm clock started ringing at 6.30am. For most daytime dwelling, commuter folk – particularly those with offspring – this is a normal time to start the day. Not for my good self. I have my morning routine, refined to a precision that would make an Olympian proud. A simple matter of misplacing my keys for thirty seconds can mean the difference between catching, or missing my bus to the grim, industrial wastelands of North County Dublin. Continue reading The wastelands on a snowy winter’s morning
January is complete. This is always a nice psychological boost. It feels like spring is on the horizon. As you leave work there is still a tinge of daylight in the air. If like me, you have time measured by the second in the morning to ensure the longest possible lie in, then you notice that it is bright by the time you rouse yourself from your slumber-pit. Spring is approaching. This feels good.
Then you remember that February is pretty damned terrible as a month also. Cold, harsh, bleak and grey. With nothing to brighten your mood except for a Hallmark inspired, fake celebration of couple-hood in the middle the month.
And you are single
Continue reading Class reunion 2018
Yesterday evening I went to clown class. It is part of an ongoing series of clowning workshops that have taken place with the theatre group, but the first one I could attend. Continue reading Murphy, the red-nosed clown.
Patience is a virtue from which I do not suffer.
I am aware of this personal limitation and I endeavour to overcome it. Nevertheless being in a queue for the checkout at the supermarket drives me positively demented. It’s not that I regard my time as any more precious than anyone else’s (well I do – but only in the sense that my time is the only one I experience). I just hate being delayed. I loathe the sensation of being trapped in a never-ending queue. This feeling of powerlessness may stem from my experiences at the diabetic clinic as a four year old. Trapping a young child in a waiting room for hours on end, could potentially lead to anxiety issues about waiting, later on in life. Continue reading My dizzying rise to the middle
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.’