Rooftop Curtain Call

Late taking Lola for her walk, as usual. I was driving her out to Sandymount, but noticed how rapidly the lovely, long-stalked evening was fading to nightfall, and I had a dinner engagement with my cousin Iz in Temple Bar in less than a couple of hours. If I wanted to take some photos in town I'd have to boogie. So I made the walk a quick trot in the park and drove downtown, diverting through the Coombe for a change. I had the Guinness Storehouse buildings in mind, that cobbled slice of 1930s American gangster stage-set, similar to the (far less dandified) Odlums buildings in Dublin Port. I used to visit schools in this area in the 1990s, and almost drove into what is now a pedestrianised zone, complete with parked tourist busses and hoards of wandering Americans. I parked hurriedly and started shooting down that dark canyon, then noticed something at the far end, guys on a roof, apparently clowning about. I ran down just as they disappeared, so I called out to them and they reentered briefly, stage right.

Lovely evening with Iz, beautiful food as usual, then great conversation, about films, the coming 1916 centenary, war poetry (Yeats and Owen), and of course those who are missing, one mutual friend in particular, the Liffy largely calm and reflective outside, upside-down busses stopping and starting, shimmering with the red and white-lit buildings.