The Dublin Community Blog

Recently, on returning to Dublin after several months in the States, I knew I was back in Ireland when:

. . . Three separate people gave me directions to a Garda station with reference to the Yellow House Pub. (And let me tell you, giving imprecise directions is an art form in Ireland. But you always get there in the end – especially if you know your pubs!)

. . . My wife put the laundry out on the line to dry in the bright sun and thirty minutes later we were pulling it off in the lashing rain. (Fifteen minutes later, the clouds parted once again, ostensibly daring us to put the laundry back out.)

. . . I heard three house alarms going off in my estate at the same time and I didn’t even stop to consider whether my neighbours were having their house broken into. (The sound of house alarms in Dublin suburbs is about as common as weekend stag parties in Temple Bar.)

. . . I learned more about this bloke named Alan who’s been out to work on our boiler (every day this week!) than I know about many of my friends in America. Alan moved back to Dublin eight years ago after living for years in London. He’s got a cousin who played football for Luton, a friend who runs sound for Def Leppard, and a cousin in the U.S. Air Force who doesn’t want to retire for fear that he won’t be able to find a job in Ireland. Etc., etc., etc. (In my personal experience living in Dublin, I’ve discovered that Irish people are some of the friendliest in the world!)