"Can you call me when we get to the Summerbank Hotel?" I asked politely, giving her my biggest smile with my smallest change, shovelling handfuls of brown money into the fare thingy and sweating slightly in case she said "No, fuck off". She didn't. "Do you mean the Sunnybank Hotel, in Phibsboro?" I didn't know, so I scrabbled in my bag for my phone and scrolled through the texts, looking for the directions I'd been given. Only short of producing a printed fucking Google map. "On Botanic Road" I said.
"In Phibsboro" she said, and slammed on the accelerator.
When we reached Phibsboro, an elderly lady asked me where I was looking for. About time, I thought, I'm always shepherding you doddery old fuckers about. I was thinking unkindly of the gent who had me traipse around Aldi with him last week, because "it's not the same as Tesco". I told her I was looking for the Gravediggers so she walked some of the way with me, then directed me down a lane and told me I'd see it on the corner. I didn't. I saw some fellows who looked like they might eat me smoking cigarettes outside John Kavanagh's. I strolled nonchalantly off around the corner in the direction of fuck knows where, reluctant to turn back in case they'd notice I was lost and, I dunno, heckle me. Once I was out of sight, I called for backup. Who, of course, led me straight back to Kavanaghs.
I am not Northside savvy.
We spent a safe afternoon in the sepulchral gloom of the pub before I had to get a bus home. "€1.80" I said, cocksure and confident. Yeah, I know where I'm going. "€1.60" he said, and I blanched. I was sure I'd put the right change into the machine. Fucking 20c short. I fumbled with my purse and took out the only coin I had left, a shiny €2. I dropped it into the slot. "No" he sighed "I meant it's only €1.60 to Merrion Square from here".
Ten minutes later we were on O' Connell St. Holy Jesus was sweating in his box, and I was farting Bulmers on the bus.
"In Phibsboro" she said, and slammed on the accelerator.
When we reached Phibsboro, an elderly lady asked me where I was looking for. About time, I thought, I'm always shepherding you doddery old fuckers about. I was thinking unkindly of the gent who had me traipse around Aldi with him last week, because "it's not the same as Tesco". I told her I was looking for the Gravediggers so she walked some of the way with me, then directed me down a lane and told me I'd see it on the corner. I didn't. I saw some fellows who looked like they might eat me smoking cigarettes outside John Kavanagh's. I strolled nonchalantly off around the corner in the direction of fuck knows where, reluctant to turn back in case they'd notice I was lost and, I dunno, heckle me. Once I was out of sight, I called for backup. Who, of course, led me straight back to Kavanaghs.
I am not Northside savvy.
We spent a safe afternoon in the sepulchral gloom of the pub before I had to get a bus home. "€1.80" I said, cocksure and confident. Yeah, I know where I'm going. "€1.60" he said, and I blanched. I was sure I'd put the right change into the machine. Fucking 20c short. I fumbled with my purse and took out the only coin I had left, a shiny €2. I dropped it into the slot. "No" he sighed "I meant it's only €1.60 to Merrion Square from here".
Ten minutes later we were on O' Connell St. Holy Jesus was sweating in his box, and I was farting Bulmers on the bus.
