Bakker Bugle Blog

Friday, 18 January 2008.

It was a rainy night in Dublin, and it was winter, but the cold snap was over. As I rounded the corner on the way to our local pub, I was blinded by a bluish-white light that burned through the mist and onto my retinas. I guarded my eyes and trudged onto the local, seeking my whiskey and beer. I passed a few box-trucks that were full of unidentifiable steel equipment and ducked into The Pembroke for the warmth of the fireplace and the alcohol.

Inside, locals mixed with some new folk, including a skirt with a radio and an earpiece, who darted around like a mouse in a tenement apartment’s only bedroom. She wouldn’t meet my eye, so I slugged back some more firewater, flipped a one-euro coin to the bartender and walked back into the rain. It was then that I noticed that the single bank of lights was focused on the opposite site of the street. It lit up a posh restaurant called FXB, where a guy like me wouldn’t get past the doorman and wouldn’t know what to do if he did. The light spilled onto the next building, so I couldn’t be sure that the steak joint was the real focus of attention.

Normally, you’d see movie-types hustling around, or at least a photographer. This was a remarkable scene because those lowlifes were not around. Just the trucks. After the week that I had, I wasn’t looking for trouble, so I didn’t ask. I just went home.

Saturday, 19 January 2008.

Even a stiff like me needs to go shopping for groceries once in a while. And my doll wanted me to take her to some fancy museum close to our place. It was going to be an ordinary Saturday. As I reached the top of the stairs that led up from my basement apartment, blinking into the dim light of day, I knew that there was nothing ordinary about this Saturday in Fitzwilliam Square. A crane leaned over the park, and there was a lot of noise for eleven in the morning, at least for my neighbourhood.

A PI’s instincts don’t take holidays, so I grabbed my camera and did my best Stupid Tourist act as I took pictures of everything in sight. Something was going on in Fitzwilliam Park, and I’ve had one eye on the Park since I moved in across the street. Almost a six months ago, the rich folks of the Park’s board held their noses and let me into their club. Of course, I had an angle. If I could get some business from these stuffed shirts, I’d have a whole new kind of clientele. Maybe I’d finally be able to take my lady out for a holiday and leave this dingy city for a while.

Editor — The story continues on Flickr, where you can see the photos that our protagonist took on Saturday. You can try to solve the Mystery of Fitzwilliam Square! Click here to help sort out the evidence.