Drumcondra the Urinal

dod

The mornings have been brisk recently. There is a shrill nip in the air that informs us of the passing of the balmy summer and that cold dark evenings loom just over the horizon. Sunday likely marked the end of the days when walking around in shirtsleeves was agreeable, or, indeed, advisable.

I had retired early on Saturday night, and as a result couldn’t sleep past five. I donned my running sweats, limbered up and went for a short run. Botanic Avenue was deserted save for some stragglers late home from the clubs via God-knows-where. The Drumcondra road had taxis flying up and down, oblivious to any rules that might guide mere mortals when driving. Even at that hour, there was a steady stream of Vauxhall cars with yellow number plates variously flying red and orange flags. They were seeking the most cherished parking spots near to Croke Park for the football final. I ran up Whitworth road, down past the Botanic gardens and home.

Having cleaned myself up and done a little work, I left the house at ten thirty. By now the neighbourhood was overrun. Though it was early yet, there were no parking spaces to be had. Families drank from their flasks of hot coffee and children in high spirits ran around cheering for their teams. I was walking into town to get a bus to Stillorgan. By now it was impossible to walk through Drumcondra without stepping onto the road. The cash machines were doing a roaring trade. In the few hours that had passed, the road was now strewn with empty Bulmers cans and discarded fast food wrappers. One man was slumped under a tree, passed out. In Drumcondra village the take-out restaurants couldn’t churn out their fare fast enough. Even now, people were cramming down undercooked burgers in an attempt to sober up before the main event. A queue had formed outside the pub doors waiting for opening hour, and in the meantime people drank the canned Bulmers and Budweiser they had brought with them.

I walked past the crowds and accidentally glanced off the arm of one Armagh supporter. He glared and squared up to me as if I were to be the appetiser before the real gladiatorship that might occur later in the official grounds.

“Up Meath,” I said, in an effort to diffuse what he obviously considered to be a confrontation. He laughed and clapped my back. “Fair play,” he said, and allowed me to pass.

Dublin city centre was festive with all the flags, though not quite as overrun as Drumcondra. I got onto the 46A and went out to Stillorgan. After lunch we went out to Powerscourt and passed a very enjoyable day relaxing in the magnificent gardens. After dinner, at about eight, I got a bus back into the city centre and walked back towards Drumcondra.

O’Connell Street was busy with all the flags and festivity. Mountjoy Square was dark and empty. Dorset Street was teeming with people. The convenience stores were overrun. Cars drove past flying their Tyrone flags. Passengers hung out of windows chanting at the crowds on the pavement and getting enthusiastic responses. Groups of girls loitered outside the pub doors, huddled over their mobile phones as they texted the unfortunates who had been compelled to enjoy the victory back at home, and were now missing the party. Overweight men hogged the street benches as they stretched out for a few hours sleep to prepare themselves for one final onslaught when last orders came.

Two men in high spirits walked a girl, her arms draped one over each of their shoulders. Long ago passed out, her head was slumped in her chest and her feet dragged on the ground. Valiantly they tried to sing her into waking up. Off the main road, in the cul-de-sacs, men urinated in the doorways. The stench was nauseating. To make your way along the path, you had to negotiate between the urine and the vomit, and step over people who had simply gone to sleep on the concrete. Two Gardai intervened to calm down a group of men who couldn’t remember what they were fighting about. A wearied doorman outside one of the pubs looked on as a girl squatted in a telephone box to relieve herself. A man on his knees by some railings stuck his fingers down his throat in an effort to make himself sick but he could only manage to dry retch. He didn’t seem to notice that he was kneeling in a huge pool of his own vomit. So this is the odour of victory.

The queues along the walls by the cash machines testified that they were still doing strong business. As they passed, cars honked their horns and the people on the pavement jumped and waved. One girl squealed and pulled her top up to show her ample bosom to a passing truck driver.

Turning left, Botanic Avenue was a little quieter. I got to the house and put on some music. There were going to be some sore heads tomorrow.

SantaHoe

So what's your point?

The_Bullman

will somebody please give the man a journal..

Crucifix

Ah, I enjoy these kind of long well written posts.
Like the man who spotted a women at bewleys, or the hungover man staring at a girl on the train.

Burago

Interesting report. You must of seen the after effect of previous All Ireland's. How did this one compare, worse or better?

uRbaN

Its weird...when I read it like that, in such grapical form, I automaticvally am disgusted by the behaviour and general animalism of the whole thing. But, I can recall being at witness this year, and p***ing on tents, in car parks, anywhere other than the designated urinals was ideal. My g/f was no different, and it wouldnt suprise me to see her go in a phone box if thats all that was on offer.
Anywhere i've travelled its the same when irish people travel and party. We have a real dont give a sh*t attitude when we want to enjoy ourselves....
Tho i think drumcondra was an urial before sunday to be honest

MarcusGarvey

I like it. More entertaining than a lot of the drivel on here anyway.

Mossy Monk

another brilliant post. it is like being there with the images in my head

ColinM

Excellent!
You're a good wordsmith, dod. The creative writing forum would have done well to get this post, but maybe it wouldn't have received the wider audience your piece deserved if it did.

After reading it, I expected to hear a voice say "My Dublin, Ronnie Drew, 98FM"!

whosurpaddy

great post, but might be more suited on the letters to the editor board or somewhere.

Kone

I too witnessed the shambles that was Dorset St/Drumcondra on Sunday!

Dod you really captured the atmosphere!

gimme

great post, I enjoyed the images in my head, vomiting:)

Mac daddy

long story short you seen a bunch of drunk people and went to the gardens in powerscourt o and you smell things

Dredz

Originally posted by dod
Turning left, Botanic Avenue was a little quieter. I got to the house and put on some music. There were going to be some sore heads tomorrow.

I also live on Botanic Avenue. What a coincidence.


That is all.

Big Chief

Originally posted by The_Bullman
will somebody please give the man a journal..

check the link in his signature

good read as ive said before about your well written posts dod (and this will be my last, your ego is getting bigger as i speak!), only just noticed that site in your sig today aswell, must remember to bookmark it

ferdi

i read that because i thought it had a point...i was mistaken. i want my two minutes back you a$$hole.

weemcd

i was at the match and didnt see half the things you talked about. like sure guys were pissin in streets, but i mean all this fightin and vomating, and girls flashin their tits is news to me. was i at the wrong match (i dont think so)

Eppie

it's great living in drumcondra and seeing GAA spas pee on people's doorsteps.