- The bus system. I mean, yes, it gets me around. But a THREE year old girl sat on some junkies syringe. This isn’t even the first time this has happened. AND they don’t give change? what is with that. They blatantly prey on the fact I am far too lazy to walk to busaras to get my 50 cent (or even 1 cent) change. This adds up. I could probably buy a bus by now (extreme exaggeration) or at least a burrito.
- Buskers on grafton street. I am sure that if you go to grafton street rarely you will not know what I mean. You will think “aren’t buskers lovely though!They add atmosphere!” wrong. Buskers aren’t lovely. Buskers are the spawn of satan, sent from the fiery bowels of hell to make sure that it is near impossible to get down grafton street at any reasonable pace without requiring a battle axe, or at least really pointy elbows.
- THE LUAS LINES.WHY DON’T THEY JOIN UP. WHAT IS THE POINT OF NOT MAKING THEM JOIN UP. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE PLANS AND THOUGHT, OH LOOK, THE DRAWING HAS THESE TWO LINES JOINED TOGETHER, LETS FOLLOW THAT INSTEAD OF JUST STOPPING. THE WHOLE POINT OF GETTING THE LUAS IS SO I DON’T HAVE TO WALK. STOP TRYING TO MAKE ME WALK.
- The price of a pint. So expensive. The price of alcohol in general. No, I do not want 3 eager bombs for a tenner, it tastes like liquorice and lidl energy drinks. Yes, I will still fall for this trap every time I go out.
- And on that note….. GOING OUT. I do like going out in dublin. I will admit I am an opium rooms gal, I like the fact that I will never ever hear Rock me Mamma, generally the clubs aren’t filled with seedy, middle age men looking to shift young wans, but with these perks come serious disadvantages. They actually need men in high viz jackets in diceys directing traffic because it is so packed. Sometimes, if you don’t go early enough, you don’t get in. When you do get in, you have to pay lots of money. You can queue for a toilet for up to an hour. You can queue for the bar for what feels like an hour, and only get served because you treat it like cage fighting and then flirt with the bartender.
- “have yiz got any change for a hostel?” both you and I know it’s not for a hostel, its for more beer, or heroin. Both you and I know that when I shake my head no, I’m lying. I still feel horrible though.
- Charity collectors. So much aggression. Please, do not follow me down the street shouting at me that it will only take ‘5 seconds’ for our chat. It won’t. You want my bank details for a direct debit payment. I have seen weaker mortals fall prey to you before. I will not fall, no matter how nice you pretend to be. Or how much you say the word chat.
- Having a rickshaw ride of death because your driver is crazy and you were too drunk to notice.
- The fact that tiger is directly on my route into college and I have to go in. Every day. And every day, I find some small, inexpensive thing that I have to have. Bunting. Cute drinking containers. Phone chargers. They know exactly what I want, and they stock it when I want it. It’s a sickness. I spend so much money there I should get shares in the company.
- ATMS that give fifties only. You probably know which one I’m taking about. It’s near topshop. It fools me, everytime. Theres always a queue. I don’t think I’ve ever successfully taken money out.
Having been born in dublin, and moving to the countryside just before starting primary school (worst thing that has happened to me to date, having a liberal english mother, coming from dublin, having a dad that’s an artist and small rural village that hasn’t seen anybody new in 800 years make for an explosive mix, in all the wrong ways) I have literally spent the last 15 years begging my parent to move back to dublin, and then, when that obviously wasn’t going to work, only applying to colleges in dublin (central dublin, to be specific, Trinity and DIT to be even more specific) Last year I finally moved to dublin.
Moving to dublin was all I hoped and dreamed it to be, to be honest. Maybe I’m a snob but I couldn’t quite imagine me and my college experience taking place in say, waterford. Or cork. I mean, do they even have burritos in cork? I’ve never heard anyone from cork ever mention a burrito. I would survive, I’m sure, but how could I be expected to flourish without my weekly tolteca fix? what’s even the incentive to go to college at all?
So, dublin is great. yes, I might be able to afford a penthouse in galway with what I’m paying in rent for a room that makes harry potter’s cupboard look roomy, but all that trad would never be worth it. At least if I encounter someone playing the squeezebox in dublin I can quickly run away. There would be nowhere to run.
So yes, dublin is great. It’s not THAT great though. Here, without further ado, is my top 10 things I hate about dublin. Live in Athlone? you can feel good about that now
There. There you have it. My top 10 annoying things about dublin, that I hate. Yes, I may be a very angry person, but at least it isn’t bubbling inside of me anymore. If you live in dublin, you probably know what I mean. If you don’t, you probably feel better about not living in dublin (maybe). I can’t judge. Also, on a soppy note, thank you all for reading my stuff. It’s made me so happy to see people liking it. Specially ruairi finnegan, who always believed in me (except when I told him I was really good at directions) and clionadh flynn, who will probably not expect me to remember her mention, but here I am doing it. You go girl.
Stay gold, people who read this far. No gold for the rest of you.