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Published: March 25th 2006
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Smart Car
The Mario Brothers Race Kart Car 'Its just a dodgem car with a roof' Smart Cars and Guinnesses
Someone callously swiped the left side mirror of my temperamental Vauxhall Corsa. My money is on Gary from across the street. Gary is irritated if you park your car outside his house. Heaven forbid he has to lumbar his beer belly three meters across the road to his car. We all pay our road taxes so everyone on the street, if possible, parks their cars in front of his house. Don’t get me wrong, the majority of the people on my street are lovely and don’t even mind me blocking their drive if I have to. Gary just seems to have an annoying sense of self importance and ill-placed logic.
Eventually I called One Car One about Henry (yes, I named my car) and arranged for a replacement to be delivered to the School. I am now in the possession of a Smart Car. Mortified doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings when Mick presented me the keys. ‘Do you know how to drive a Smart Car?’ Sure I do. You put it in neutral, take off the handbrake and push it over a cliff or into an inferno if you can find one. If
Trinity College
Trinity College you haven’t seen a Smart Car before or heard people make scathing analogies about it, imagine a Tarago in a car yard squashed by two big metal pressers. I feel like I am in Mario Bros Race Kart adventures and expect Luigi to come hurtling by only to skid out on a banana peel. The Smart car is a two seater car concocted by some eco friendly hippy that ironically ended up working for Mercedes Benz. Originally it appears the confused hippy was attempting to make a stylish electric car to market to the growing number of environmentally conscious people. Somewhere along the developing process they realised it would be a money sink hole and salvaged it by making it a super compact, petrol efficient car for the city driver. It’s a dodgem car with a roof.
The ignition is by the stick, no boot just a shelf and it comes with its very own tape player (how early 90’s). The max speed is 85miles an hour but at 70miles, it feels like the egg beater motor will self destruct. The Smart car maybe small but it corners like a four wheel drive on wheels that belong
Medical Intervention
Sian applying medical intervention to Nicole. on a toddler’s tricycle. To my dismay it’s a hybrid manual/automatic. What is the point? How many times do I have to remind One Car One, I want an automatic, not a half an automatic? It’s a manual without the clutch and it tells you when to change gear. A little arrow flashes on the dashboard to alerting you to change it into the appropriate gear. I could forgive the crappiness of this car if it had a voice like Kit from Knightrider giving me orders in a witty repertoire attitude.
Cheese Boy in his electric wheelchair overtook me as I pulled out past the staff car park. Nothing could be more humiliating, except when he waved me on through at the end of the drive.
Humiliation aside, I decided to be adventurous and head to Dublin for St Patrick’s Day. In the history of its operation, I don’t think Ryanair has ever departed on time. Not only is it at the arse end of the airport, there are no seating allocation so it’s a free for all for seats. The airhostesses are harried with most of their hair out of place in their horrid blue and yellow
Felt hats
oversized leprechaun hats uniforms. Even worse, their uniforms match the décor of the plane. If that doesn’t speak budget, than the vodka and tonic in a clear sachet does.
Dublin airport is one of my favourite airports purely because there is a giant plastic leprechaun statue waiting to greet you. Class. I missed the parade but definitely caught the party in Temple Bar. My top five reasons for loving this city:
1. It is a low rise city which means you can see the sky and without any horrendous skyscrapers/penthouses where a view means a 6 figure salary.
2. Every bar is non-smoking which means your hair will still smell of Pantene at 5am.
3. Temple Bar, a cultural hub of restaurants, pubs, bars, cafes along a maze of cobblestones and not a Starbucks in sight.
4. They sell Natural Confectionary lollies (although couldn’t find Blinky Bills) and as I offered them down the street, not one was willing to accept candy from a stranger.
5. The giant plastic leprechaun at Dublin airport
True to my promise, I kept the Guinnesses to a minimum and evaded any monetary punishment. Couldn’t say much for the other girls
Carlton Boy
There is a Carlton Fan anywhere. (or girl) who managed to flip out of bed, hitting the side table; bounce a glass of water off her head and spilling its contents on our bed. Spectacular effort and the water almost managed to wash off the tahini we spilt from our chicken kebab.
The weekend wasn’t purely about oversized felt leprechaun hats and Guinness. The girls and I took a tourist moment to Trinity College of Dublin to see the Book of Kells. Its freezing in Dublin and me without the giant pom pom beanie, dutifully listened to our guide about the fascinating history of Trinity. The tour ended at the library where the 800AD manuscript lies. Our guide assured us that the queue for the Book of Kells is long but it moves quickly. He lied. 45min we made it to the front door where the security guard took one look at our tickets and led us straight in. We probably didn’t have to line up; people were just buying tickets we already had. The Book of Kells is an ancient manuscript on vellum (baby cow hides). The book depicts the four gospels in intricate Celtic art work, forms and writings. It is absolutely faultless with the most intricate detail ever produced. In once section 158 lacing of white ribbon is contained in a square inch. No symbol or letter is identical in its 340 pages and for that reason, the Irish once thought it was created by Angels. It’s pretty spectacular in its Chubb cabinet. The most precious part of the book, the cover, is long gone because of water damage during one of the numerous battles the Celtics/Vikings/English/other angry culture had and then eventually stripped for its gold and gem inlay. I would have appreciated the viewing much more if I wasn’t bumped out of the way by a fat American woman in velour.
That done, we walked through the Long Room which houses floor to ceiling shelves with runner ladders on two levels. I adore these rooms. The smell of old leather bound books with historical cartography pictures and bankers lamps on antique wooden tables. There is something wonderfully curious about the hollow echo of footsteps over a restored floor, archway windows and just an endless hall of books, once categorised not by author, subject or genre but by volume. Sheer size. Only the Irish could do that and think it was a good idea. “Miss, I’m looking for a book about (holding hands apart) yay big on potato farming.”
We spent the remainder of the night a The Oliver St John Gogarty Bar listening to Irish music and catching the atmosphere of the Ireland vs England rugby match. Until we were politely asked to move from the barrel we were leaning ourselves and pints on. Someone had reserved the barrel for 7pm to 730pm. Who reserves a barrel and what kind of bar lets them? But the bar is a three story bright yellow and green building in the heart of Temple Bar, so they can be forgiven.
Like any major city, it is filled with non-locals. The Antipodeans are pulling the pints, the English are drinking the pints, and the Europeans are manning the front desks and serving the food while the Americans are just everywhere making their conversation known. As my taxi driver informed me while heading to the airport at 5am, no sane Irish person would be in Dublin for St Pat’s day. They are in the warmth of their own home drinking their own choice of pint and smoking to their hearts content. That’s the way they like it.
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