I write this, perhaps unfairly, from the Duchess Rooftop Bar in what the Americans would call “downtown” Budapest. The capital of the Hungarian Republic has been my home for the last week – not because of any work reason but because my wife adores architecture and churches, and this is one of the many great cities in Europe that people with those interests should make it their business to see.
I write it, also, feeling an unfamiliar feeling: Shame, about Dublin. A sense of shame about Dublin is unfamiliar for two reasons: First, I was never somebody who loved or took any pride in the place, being a born-and-reared culchie brought up to have a healthy skepticism for “the Dubs”, most of whom wouldn’t know the front end of a cow from the back. The real Ireland to me, and many like me, was always to be found in a rural pub, supping Smithwicks and whinging about the weather.
This article is premium content
Get unlimited access to Gript
Support Gript and get exclusive content, full archives and an ad-free experience
Subscribe
Already a member? Sign in here