Over the hillside beyond the sodden wasteland I am wandering in the whimsied mists of other days … ha, you see, that’s what it’s like, giving yourself up to the magic of The Blue Nile. A diffident magic created by three Glaswegians, of uncommon synths and sensibilities, who transformed that hardest of hard cities into Tinsel Town in the rain.
David Attenborough might enjoy plotting the origin of the faeces here or marvelling at how certain owners have managed to maintain an ancient way of life, whereby Rover and friends are left free to release the contents of their innards with unhindered abandon. The poo will always be with us, it seems.
Yes, what bliss it is to be alive in this great old city. More shabby than chic, more storied than serenaded and forever being dug up, dissed and disassembled, but always discernibly Dublin. Its essence running deeper than buildings, history or passing people. My Dublin. For now