Bad news. It has commenced. It being the making over of our street and its environs from shabby chic to downright shabby and more than slightly unpleasant. The starting gun for the makeover was sounded by a brick smashing clean through the window of the tattoo shop on Sunday night. The owner's original poster, "Will the coward who smashed my window be man enough to come and see me?" has gained an ominous postscript, "I WILL find out who you are".

Just now on my way home from netball a Subaru Impreza screeched to a halt in front of a neighbour's doorstep and two young men leapt out only to liberate their penises from the polyester prisons of their trousers in order to urinate. The neighbour shouted down from a window in a a frankly well-deserved protest which was answered by a lengthy and foul-mouthed rant from the younger of the two men, the one whose micturation appeared to take at least three whole minutes. Meanwhile his elder resumed his place in the "Scooby"'s driving seat and, to my relief, the pair parted in cloud of road dust identical to the one in which they were delivered.

We don't own this house, we rent it and tend not to stoop to Nimbyish concerns about the street, a steep hill linking the town's original business district with the genuine Old Quarter. At the bottom of the hill is the tattoo shop and beside that stands a former bar, its exterior painted in verdant green. Sprawling across several floors, this supremely cool watering hole turned out to be too cool for all but the owner's friends, to whom she insisted on serving the premium spirits and vintage champagnes for free. A mixture of houses and flats meander around a sloping corner to a French restaurant. Fortunately its unique combination of chic style and friendly warmth inspires respect and quells complaints about the ubiqitous perfume of garlic. The top of the street is heralded by two pubs, one on either side, both sympathetic to Irishmen and real ale drinkers.

Writing this has revealed to me that I am proud and fond of this street and ready to defend its charms from petty vandals. If life were a soap opera I would be holding court in one of the pubs and rallying the other local drinkers into action right now, but life isn't scripted or stilted and I will, for now, see where it takes us.


SC