That its customer services phoneline is open only between 9am-5pm.
Because who, in their right mind, would be using the trains at the times before and after this? No-one, I’d bet. They’re probably ghost trains at those times.
Who would, say, be wondering about cancelled trains, or why the radio says one thing and the Irish Rail website says another, or looking for some bloody information, at any other time? Only crazy, frustrated, angry customers, that’s who. And why would anyone want to deal with them?
19-year-old, middle-class, Skins-scriptwriting Max Gogarty decides to head to India for a bit of gap fun. He blogs about it on the Guardian website. The readers give him a hammering, while unearthing the fact that he appears to be the son of another Guardian contributor. Much hilarity ensues, for everyone but Max and his dad. Nathan Barley gets mentioned a lot. And the editor, who commissioned the piece thinking it would be a regular bit of whimsy that would connect with the backpacking masses, has a bad day at the office.
A sample comment:
Here’s an idea, Max.
Instead of setting off on yet another inane, identikit trip around Asia before you take up your place at Oxbridge (or wherever), why don’t you leave your family’s Highgate mansion FOR GOOD, cut yourself off from your father’s allowance, move into a council estate in Salford, STAY THERE, and then consider writing a blog about your experiences.
Why does our society only grant a voice to those with nothing to say?
P.S. Are you Paul Gogarty’s son?
(as spotted on Dan’s blog)
ZERO: the number of women seen wearing their pyjamas on the street.
- I’m beginning to think that the rugby match is a penance that must be gone through in order to enjoy the rest of the weekend in Paris. People keep telling me that it was a great game. No it wasn’t. It was torture, compounded by how victory briefly appeared inevitable. A 30-point defeat is a clean cut to the soul. A narrow one after a surprise comeback is a cruel botch job.
- It was, without doubt, the worst rendition of Ireland’s Call yet. The male voice choir went a capella, starting with a low groan and then setting off at a random pace. You wondered how any team could avoid being enervated by it, never mind inspired.
- A truly great national anthem is one that makes even your enemies sing along. I haven’t been at a Paris game yet without hearing a few Irish voices join in with La Marseillaise. All together now, Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Na-Naaaaa-Na-Na…
- Blue skies, warmth in the sun, the cafés and markets buzzing, the bars open all night. When you come back to Dublin, you feel immediately inadequate. (more…)
Will Ferrell is in the country. Maybe he came to get away from it all. But he couldn’t. Because every time he so much as stopped for directions someone would ring Today FM with the latest on his location.
It was like The Running Man, except he’s not running, and his head won’t explode despite the laser-beam stares of starstruck Paddies. (more…)
Spent Friday night in Wicklow, at the Brook Lodge hotel near Aughrim. It’s a fine spot to relax in, with a decent spa. The full body deep tissue massage was like sliding through a car wash made of kickboxers. This was a good thing.
Its restaurant, The Strawberry Tree, is excellent (yoghurt and black pepper sorbet: sublime), even if it was a little too eager with the service (I can place the napkin on my own knee. Mastered that pretty early on in life.)
Driving to Wicklow, I got a reminder of that particular aspect of Irish life: the fossilied tourist attraction. They are the “attractions” that weren’t a particularly good idea at the time, but which now look redundant without being quaint; desperate rather than enterprising. But no one has the guts to take the signs down. (more…)
A big shout out to the people on the packed Drogheda-Dublin train this morning, who kept their heads down when the obviously-pregnant woman stood in the aisle. Well done to the man who sacrificed his seat when I pointed out that she could do with one, even if he looked pretty unhappy as he did it.
By the way, I’ve noticed before that women are as bad, if not worse, than men for not handing up seats. Young men will often get up, but I’ve seen women - and some I know who have had children themselves - spot pregnant women and then look the other way.
From July next year, the Netherlands will bring in a smoking ban that may or may not affect its coffee shops, depending on how things pan out. In preparation for the worst-case scenario, those hippies at the Guardian bring us the 10 best Amsterdam coffee shops. My tip: eat at the Supperclub while you’re there. You will be hungry.
UPDATE: Catherine points out that there’s only “one actual coffee shop on the list”, which makes me guilty of passing on dodgy gear.
Some links:
73man highlights one of RTÉ’s more ridiculous online polls.
66 Simpsons scenes alongside the movies that influenced them. (via BoingBoing)
TV3 has been given some stick for its coverage of the rugby. New Zealand’s TV3 has been getting abuse too. Maybe they could form a support group.
A supreme-court judge in the Phillipines announced that he chats with three elves only he can see. He’s become a TV favourite because of it. The Supreme Court’s medical clinic says he’s suffering from a form of psychosis. The judge says he’s not. You decide.
Fresh from turning back Venezuala’s clocks by half an hour, Hugo Chavez’s TV show lasted a record eight hours this weekened.
The Ryanair of bus tours: Megabus
New York Times gives Americans the impression that all one-off housing in Ireland can be an architectural masterpiece.
Best bit about Friday’s match? The fan getting stuck in the bog.
There probably never was any “golden age of air travel”. Planes have always been cramped. The food has always been ropey. There is no escape from screaming children, big-elbowed neighbours, stale air, stale passengers or piped Richard Clayderman.
When passengers could smoke, it was like travelling inside a subsonic bong. And for years it was the only mode of transport in which the opening minutes of a journey were spent being reminded of the many ways it might kill you.
But in comparison with now, the past does look like the golden age of air travel. Because this summer confirmed a growing suspicion: that flying has become a time-wasting, earth-destroying, head-wrecking, wallet-mugging, embolism-triggering grind. (more…)
In an old Cognac distillery, they started serving dinner at 8.30pm, with the last course some time around 2am. It ended with Cognac or Baileys (or Cognac and Baileys). The fourth course was a lemon sorbet in Cognac. You may have spotted a theme.
Village of Gondeville and the 11th century abbey of Bassac caught in 3.2 mega pixel cameraphone glory.
(more…)
Another poll, this one a little more interesting. 1,000 British tourists were asked for the most disappointing tourist attractions. The result:
1. The Eiffel Tower
2. The Louvre (Mona Lisa)
3. Times Square
4. Las Ramblas, Spain
5. Statue of Liberty
6. Spanish Steps, Rome
7. The White House
8. The Pyramids, Egypt
9. The Brandenburg Gate, Germany
10. The Leaning Tower of Pisa
Given that we’re about to be landed with a giant Antony Gormley sculpture, it was interesting that the Angel of the North was number two on the list of disappointing British sights (Stonehenge was number one). I saw the sculpture last weekend, and I thought it was pretty impressive, partly because it is juxtaposed with a dual carriageway.
An Irish list would be interesting, perhaps featuring the underwhelming Spire and the Paddy-themepark that is Killarney.
Venue: Sunderland v Spurs, Saturday. Mode of transport: bandwagon. 
It’s easy to see why this could become an “Irish” club in Britain. A quick flight to Newcastle. Short train ride to the Stadium of Light. Good stadium with good fans making plenty of noise. And no obvious resentment about the Irish newcomers - instead there’s real enjoyment of what the Irish are bringing to the club.
There’s the danger that the Irish fans will bring a diluted passion, of course. That they’ll come over with more interest in seeing Man U, Chelsea and Liverpool than in Sunderland; that it’ll become a little like those pre-season friendlies when League of Ireland teams are booed by the Irish fans there to see the English team. Plus, as soon as the match was over lots of the blow-ins legged it back to Irish pubs in Newcastle to watch the GAA, so Sunderland itself mightn’t make as much cash is it could out of the new link. And finally if Keano doesn’t last, then interest could drop off quickly.
But for the moment, there’s the beginnings of something that could lead to Sunderland getting close to being what a taxi driver called “the Celtic of England”. Plus, they’ve got Paul McShane in their team. And he is really bloody good.
(more…)
