Rears on parade

The 100th red Bull Flug Tag was on at Dún Laoghaire today. It was a disaster. Even allowing for the worst possible weather conditions (strong, blustery wind, sporadic showers), it was the organisation which ruined it all. As usual, the start was delayed, so what should have begun at 1.00 pm didn't get under way until almost 2.00. Then there was the ridiculously high-profile "health and safety" element which saw pretty pointless barriers all over the place, closures of all sorts, movement restrictions, and swarms of red-jacketed "security" personnel doing their damnedest to spoil everyone's fun. A series of announcements began at about 1.30 asking spectators to move along the pier past the bandstand, and telling the crowd that the show couldn't start until people moved along. Naturally, these announcements were totally ignored and things got under way regardless. Gradually, the ridiculous restrictions were relaxed and formerly closed-off areas were reopened (or perhaps just reclaimed by frustrated spectators).

As if all the police-state antics weren't enough, the organisation of the event itself was an unmitigated disaster. The sound system was bad. The music was painfully loud, but the inane chatter of the presenters was difficult to hear. For some totally unknown reason it had been decided that each of the 37 entries would be asked to do a dance routine before their actual takeoff. This, along with abysmally inept and long-winded presenters dragged things out to an extreme extent. We gave up at 2.30 and went to join a friend who lives in an apartment overlooking the harbour, from where we grabbed an occasional glimpse of goings-on through binoculars. As time went on (and on, and on), the crowds who'd gamely hung on along the pier thinned out until only a handful remained at the end. If things could had been done more speedily and more efficiently, then perhaps the much-vaunted Flug Tag might have been a bit of fun. As it was, it was a dismal failure.

Having been joined by another mutual friend, we were treated to lunch by the guy in the apartment, after which it was back to Carl's place to watch a recording of the Spanish Grand Prix (desperately boring, despite the best efforts of the commentators to assure us it had been an exciting race). Then it was time to go across the road for an evening meal we'd been invited to. The other two continued to the Eagles pub afterwards but we passed on that.