I WAS Dublin-bound last Friday and for the first time in ages I decided to go by train. I had forgotten what a really relaxing way it is to travel, even if you have to arrive well in advance to make sure you get parking, if the catering trolly isn’t what it used to be, and the toilets are best to be avoided at all costs. But as someone whose adores peoplewatching and eavesdropping, I was in my absolute element. I was surrounded by people having full-on phone conversations and the foursome beside kept me entertained for the full two and a half hours with all their chat. It was all I could do to restrain myself and not get involved. Along the lines of: ‘Eh, don’t mind me now, but you know that Johnny fella you mentioned a few minutes ago, is he related to Michael you were just talking about?’ I didn’t even get to fit in a nap as I was afraid I’d miss out on something juicy. Happy days…choo choo!

Dublin was as buzzy as all big cities tend to be. Coming from the country, I find something very novel and energising about being out and about on a packed street at midnight when I’d usually be all tucked up at that hour of the night. 

Having said that, I definitely wouldn’t like to live there. There’s the traffic for starters. All I’ve to worry about is getting stuck behind some cows, and that’s not so much an issue at this time of  year, or a milk lorry, and the drivers are so obliging they always pull in. Congestion is a proper headwreck, and not something I think I could live with daily. But what’s seldom is wonderful, and all
the rest.

I was in the big smoke to celebrate some friends’ 50th birthdays. I feel I should clarify that I’m the ‘baby’ of the group and have not yet reached that milestone, but I am within touching distance of it so it was an early celebration for me and a later celebration for others. All middle-aged people will know how hard it is to organise a night out that suits everyone. This particular event took around 12,987 WhatsApp messages and three months to pin down so we used it as a ‘one night to celebrate all.’ 

Emma rediscovered the joys of train travel, especially if you’re an incorrigible eavesdroppe

The funny thing (well not funny at all, more horrifying really) is I told various people such as taxi drivers, hairdressers, and hotel receptionists that I was in the capital to celebrate some 50th birthdays, and none of them batted an eyelid. I had fully expected shock, disbelief, or some remonstration at the very least that surely I couldn’t be part of such a celebration, due to my youthful looks and fresh complexion. But ‘Oh right, very good, enjoy!’ was all I got. Flip sake. So much for assuming that the lovely fresh West Cork air was the fountain of youth. I suppose the fact that we now all need to either put on or take off our glasses to be able to read the menus was a bit of a tell-tale sign, but sure aren’t we lucky to have them, along with our health. 

What was not so lucky was getting one of those particularly inquisitive taxi drivers going from the hotel to the train station the morning after the night before. Before I had even put on my seatbelt he had asked me: who I voted for in the presidential election, my thoughts on the IPAS centres, and what my hobbies were. In a state of panic I threw out gardening which was a bad call as it prompted further questions about heavy digging, if I do it, soil testing, if I do it, and what plants are frostproof. Luckily, he didn’t seem to need any answers from me before moving on to the next topic which was why I played team sport, and why I didn’t, if I eat much Clonakilty black pudding, my thoughts on zero-alcohol beer (all I could think of is that that I wished I had drank it the night before), and a general discussion about the lack of sports facilities for children in Meath, where his sister is from. This was at 9.30am when the best way to describe my condition would have been ‘fragile,’ but words like ‘critically ill,’ would also have worked well. 

Unfortunately in the midst of the birthday celebrations I completely forgot that of late, anything more than three drinks makes me feel most unwell, and I let myself be led astray by my older (not wiser) friends and had four. And a half. And maybe another half. Let’s just say I wasn’t as enthralled by anyone’s chats on the train journey home. I put on my headphones and sunglasses and settled in for a nice, long nap for myself. 

Of course the best thing about going away, even  for a night, is coming home again. Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán fein. And waking up the next day with only a mild dose of post night-out anxiety, I felt full of gratitude for my traffic-free, headache-free existence. So much so that I went straight out to buy some Clonakilty black pudding and a good shovel to dig the garden. Sure, I have to make sure I’ve something to chat about on my next trip to the capital.