Friday, 18 January 2008.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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<\/a>, 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.<\/p>\n Normally, you’d see movie-types hustling around, or at least a photographer. This was a remarkable scene because those lowlifes were not<\/em> 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.<\/p>\n Saturday, 19 January 2008.<\/p>\n 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<\/a>. 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.<\/p>\n 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.<\/p>\n