My favorite things about Dublin
Mam and Dad, grandparents graves, Catherine, Aideen and Mary, Peter and Marcella, old lovers, new lovers, lovers to come.
When the sun shines, when the rain falls, in the foggy dew.
The dark Liffey, Blessington basin, St Ann’s rose garden, DunLaoghaire pier, Howth head, a pint outside the Summit in the summer where U2 played their farewell gig before going to England to make it big, they came home live here and play Croke park better that any Artane boys band.
Batch bread or turnover from the Earl bakery on North Earl street, sausges, soup in Conways and a pint, soup in the Colbalt cafe and a sandwich, filtered coffee from the West Coast coffe shop on the quay, the Irish Times sometimes, John Kelly on the radio, the Ambassador as a gig, the Gate, Andrews lane, not a bad seat in the Abbey, free museums, free art galleries, wise-arsed cracks, soft accents.
The light on the Liffey, clouds, the Dublin mountains, the ting, ting of the LUAS, the view from the DART coming though Killiney tunnel, the bay, Dollymount strand, the wodden bridge, Brian Brou and the Battle of Clontarf. The Dubs winning, Ireland winning anything, the GPO and all it’s history, Moore street, Merrion square, Stephen’s green, the ducks the swans in the Grand Canel basin, blackbird on my balcony, goldfinches at a feeder, city foxes and roosters hiding in the parks, the Pheonix park, the Zoo.
Writers galore, home to four winners of the Nobel prize for literature, Joyce and Wilde who didn’t, Roddy Doyle, Killester, Clarinda Park, gardens.
When I am feeling blue, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.