I was up above in Dublin for the darts myself yesterday. On arriving at Connolly station , dodging the tappers and climbing over the down and outs blocking the bottom of the escalator, my instinct was to look for a seven seater blaxi to take us to Parnell St as a client (a chef, Irish by accident of birth) had recommended a Croatian Cafe which I figured would be ideal to line our stomachs. The brother, not being quite as unfit as me, scoffed at the idea of taking a taxi and insisted that we walk. Turned out to be a good idea as we had my two not so young lads and a man from a small town in west Wicklow with us, none of whom would be familiar with inner city Dublin.
As we approached the junction of Talbot Street and Gardiner Street I went into tour guide / bulshitting taximan mode, suggesting we take a right turn and take in Chinatown. I was in full flow, explaining the demise of the Shiners and the rise of the Triad by the time we got to the junction with Sean Mcdermott Street so quickly explained the Garda babysitting service funded by our their taxes, telling them to look left onto Champions Avenue as we turned right onto Cumberland Street North which I billed as the scene of more gangland shootings that any other street in the country. That could actually be true, certainly per square meter. As we passed through Chinatown I pointed out the most profitable Paddy Power shop in the world - I’m not one to generalise but them Chinese do like to gamble.
Next was a quick stop at the oldest ATM in the country outside AIB, O’Connell St Upper where one of our party (not a racist by any means) quipped that Rosa Parkes has a lot to answer for as he had to queue behind a crowd of African immigrants to get his money. From there it was down the stairs into Moore Street Mall, an eclectic mix of shops and traders from every corner of Eastern Europe and beyond and home of the aforementioned eatery, known as His Food Muhadzic. The grub was reasonably priced and the ample portions went down well, the authenticity of the establishment confirmed by the fact that we were the only group communicating in English.
With our bellies full we moved on to Mooore Street, still home to genuine Dublin elwans selling napples and noranges, the notable difference from my youth being that the vast majority of their clients were foreigners, our own probably too busy working and paying tax to have time to seek out fresh produce at bargain prices. From there we cut through the GPO arcade, reminiscing about our forefathers standing shoulder to shoulder with Connolly, Pearse, etc… and on through the lane behind the Irish Independent where I pointed out the sealed up door behind which I, along with dozens of other (then Irish by accident of birth) street vendors, bought newspapers for the paper round I ran as a young lad. A left turn brought us to the Oval public house, the haunt of many a newspaper man for more years than Harry Moore would care to remember.
Several pints later and it was time to engage in the relatively new Dublin tradition of bunking the Luas up to the Point. Conveniently, the Luas station on Abbey Street Lower is exactly opposite where the Sunday World van used to park of a Saturday night to wholesale to street vendors. This gave me the opportunity to recount my street smarts, explaining how myself and an acquaintance used to cycle out to Terrenure as young lads to get our stock… giving us at least an hour of a head start on other northside pub vendors… more often than not we’d be in the Ivy Rooms drinking the profit before our competitors had bought their stock!
Anywaysanall, it was an enjoyable day followed by a good night at the darts… the highlight being Steve Lennon going 3-0 up on Peter Wright, even the fact that he lost the game didn’t detract from his performance… once again he showed that all the ingredients are there. He has both the temperament and the skill to take on the best in the world and his best days are all ahead of him.
