Finally saw some examples of the terrible driving everyone talks about here. When it comes to putting one country up against anothe, we naturally think our own is the best but sorry you lads in your Hummers and Porsche SUVs, I still think the bad drivers of Ireland are in a class of their own.
Break traffic lights? Red lights are only for little folk, boy. Side swipe cyclists – have the bruises to prove it you idiot white van man on the Merrion Road. Drive on footpaths? But of course – why waste that valuable space on mere pedestrians? Speed up the wrong lane of a motorway dead drunk? Sure, didn’t even an ex-Minister try that one?
The difference here is that since it’s a country entirely dominated by cars you walk defensively at all times. You know that pedestrian crossings are rare and negotiating one of the many roundabouts on foot requires a combination of quick wit, fast reflexes and pure bone-headedness. (Yes, isn’t it amazing? Another country that thinks roundabouts are the solution to all traffic problems. They should send their equivalent of Dublin City Council on a fact-finding mission to the Red Cow Roundabout at rush hour any morning.)
You quickly accept that when you dig up half the streets in a city, pavements are bound to get sacrificed. But still. I am lucky to be alive this week after two examples of breath-takingly ignorant driving. The first was on a pedestrian crossing, little green man indicating I could go (that is unusual in itself; the little green men don’t do much in the way or work here. They appear to be permanently on strike.). I counted the two extra cars that broke the lights (as I do at home) and had stepped tentatively out on to the road when another car raced past almost shaving my kneecaps. I yelped in shock but survived. This by the way was right beside one of the most popular parks in the town, which at weekends, is packed with children.
Two days later, I have an even closer shave. There I was, waiting to cross a road from a traffic island, when white van man D*&a style did that funny parping thing they do on their horn and attempted to sideswipe me as I stood on the edge of the footpath, shouting something at me at the same time. “You f**king moron!” I roared after him, thoroughly frightened. It made me feel quite at home.

What can you say about John “Shagtastic” Prescott? Only this: it is time to insist on polygamy for politicians in the Western world. It gets rid of the problem of your spurned lover running to the Daily Screw and revealing all. Every man here can have a couple of wives, while the Big Cheeses can have as many as they like, nominating the prettiest and most articulate to be the Official Face.
Polygamy has its compensations for women: you are fed and watered and you only have to sleep with Himself maybe once or at worse twice a month. If you provide him with a son, he may leave you alone altogether and throw you a couple of diamonds for your trouble. Best of all the housework is shared. Still, if he looked like John Prescott, that might not be compensation enough.

A contribution from Stuart, who works here with me and has a twisted north of England sense of humour. Has anyone noticed that the “West Bay” area, which is the swish and upmarket part of town is actually situated to the north east of the city centre? Could this be because when you open the standard map which everyone uses, it is laid out north to sought facing you, which means that the north side on the left appears to be to the west?
Here’s a simple solution. Why didn’t they call it “De Nortsoide” (and get Damo Dempsey to sing a few bars at the opening … “Rolling down teeo Dubbalin town, comin’ from de Nortsoide, headin’ soutbound… etc”)? Even better, it will generate a whole new source of paperwork, since visas will clearly be needed for Soutsiders (just like in Dubbalin)!