Confused in Causewayhead

This street should be as famous as any in Dublin. Why Dublin you might ask. Having read some Toibin recently on Wilde’s Father, Yeats’s Dad and Joyce’s pater- I feel the streets, alleyways and denizens deserve their eulogy too.

This town can be irritating and it’s inhabitants as well, what can one say? People muttering into mobiles so difficult to tell apart from those sadly suffering from Tourettes. Those with dogs an extendable leads are the most dangerous to those, like myself who are short sighted. Causewayhead though is always in some sort of flux. The colours of the one and only greengrocer/ delicatessen today offering purple pomegranates at the reasonable rate of three for a pound. Can I find the energy to google in what succulent dish they might be served?

Where oh where is the travel agents gone?How can I erase the sad memories of this lively street looking depressingly empty during Covid? What are these strange new stores with handtowels priced with West End prices? Have enough rich folk moved in to afford the strange articles here on sale? A book about East End interiors going for 30 quid for instance. At least the cash and carry shop is open and supplying cheap torches so that I can read the fortune I seem to have spent with Scottish Power.

Well despite some incipient grumpiness, I have managed to find another book for 50p in the charity shop. Instead of a trip to Hampstead or a herringbone Irish jacket, I have found a biography of H.G.Wells by Michael Foot. It will doubtless join the pile of to be read books cluttering the lounge.

So what next after this Cappuccino in the relatively quiet Cinema cafe? Not really up for another bacon sandwich at the Smugglers so probably the Oxfam shop, reconsider the pomegranates and then the bus back to read Christopher Reid. 📚

By penwithlit

Freelance writer and radio presenter

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