Sunday, September 20, 2009

171 Navan Road, Dublin 7

Someone said to me when they heard that I was back that I should photograph/document the "ghost estates" around the rim of the commuter belt, in the beyonds of Meath, Kildare, etc. Places that got built and then never occupied, or were almost finished but then the developer ran out of money. Fuck that! I like my derelict buildings with a bit of character. Even if those "ghost estates" were occupied, they'd still be full of zombies, brain dead from their daily two-hours-there, two-hours-back commute in gridlock. Oh those poor people, I read, the recession has left them with negative equity. FUCK. THEM. Thats what you get for wanting a house with 4 bedrooms and garden back and front, instead of living closer to where you work in an apartment, LIKE THE REST OF EUROPE DOES. Deal with the choices you made in your life. You're a stupid fucking Irish person who thinks they've above their station in life, with a widescreen TV and a new car, but you're actually commuter belt nouveau riche (and now pauvreté, or perhaps misère would be more appropriate) trash, its YOU thats responsible for the recession, not the bankers.

So after a brief hiatus, its back here again, with so much other fetid spam alongside us in the dole queue. But not for long (I swear, I hope), so I'll cram all the properties into the blog before operations are shut down again and moved to a tax exile island. I think I've reached this love/hate duality/dichotomy/juxtaposition status with Ireland at this stage in my life. I get dewey eyed about the green auld sod like any diaspora moron, no doubt given a few years away again I'll be a Continuity/Real IRA supporter from afar, have a strange hybrid accent, be a regular at my local paddywhackery "Oirish" bar harping on about how inauthentic the place is, act the drunken buffoon at the socially awkward Paddys Day workplace drinks for the amusement of my colleagues, and so on. Part of me does miss it - but again its a warped nostalgia, where the grass is greener on the other side. You forget the rain, the rain, the idiots who run the country and the idiots who voted for them (and the idiots who think the "opposition" are in any way ideologically different), the state of the place in general, the rain, the fact that now you're home you're not from Ireland any more - you're just a knacker as soon as you open your mouth to a stranger, and so on. So it'll be adios, again, sooner rather than later.

In the interim, enjoy these properties from the northside.

241 New Cabra Road, Cabra, Dublin 7

190 New Cabra Road, Dublin 7

52 Old Cabra Road, Cabra, Dublin 7

52 Mountjoy Street, Broadstone, Dublin 7

I think there used to be some sort of metalwelding business in the rear of this building, maybe a gate and fence manufacturer. It was used by junkies a while back but now its been boarded up again. Doesnt look like there's any current activity.

60 Mountjoy Street, Broadstone, Dublin 7

I really wish the council would stick a metal gate up at the entrance to the laneway at the side of this gaf, with keys given to the residents of Fontenoy Street. The laneway is constantly full of half burnt sofas, shopping trolleys, and other assorted shite.

23 Blessington Street, Dublin 1 (or maybe Dublin 7?)

This building has been getting progressively worse over the past few years. I'm not sure of the postcode of this part of the street, it might be either Dublin 1 or 7. I think it might be 7 because I have it in my head that Dorset Street is the boundary, but I could be wrong.

2 Mountjoy Square, Dublin 1

I think there might be squatters in this one, its got that 'arrow' logo on the door, although it doesnt look occupied.

9 Rutland Street, Summerhill, Dublin 1

21 Rutland Street, Summerhill, Dublin 1

12 Buckingham Street, Summerhill, Dublin 1

I think it comes from reading too much Paul Williams articles in the Sunday Wuddled back in the day, but for some reason, and its only on this street, I get a little panicked when taking photos of buildings on Buckingham Street. I seem to have it in my head that every building on the street is owned by Gerry Hutch, who upon seeing me photographing one of his properties, will have me 'disappeared' for a few hours in the back room of some snooker club or windowless pub with a few guys well trained in the black art of fingernail pulling.

Maybe it wouldnt be so bad if I got to ride in the Hummer limo on the way to the venue.

Actually, I hate that fucking car. It would only add to the torture.