I was getting the Free Travel itch again so set out as before to catch the 0710 bus from the bottom of the road. From its terminus in Dublin I caught the south going Luas green line almost to its end and did my walking bit which roughly followed the green track in my map being this route.
My walking track in colour red, 7.75 miles
I then returned by Luas from the Brides Glen (last) stop all the way to the most northerly station Broombridge where I caught a regular commuter train to Connolly from where I jumped on a waiting red Luas tram showing destination "Tallaght" on its head-up display. In due course it regrettably proved to be a Saggart tram so I had to disembark and retrace somewhat. From Tallaght I caught the next 65 bus to Blessington, which sadly terminated there so did not take me to the end of our road, so then ran / walked until I was kindly rescued by a neighbour and delivered to my door.
As usual you can enlarge my pictures below by clicking on them.
Pigeons at home - Taken from the bus on the way in
The green Luas currently terminates at Brides Glen but there are plans to extend it further to Bray in which case it will doubtless use the viaduct (see below). Everywhere the Luas' tendrils grow new developments are spawned and, I understand, existing house prices rocket.
The lead mines chimney was, of course, the real reason for this trip. Who could resist such a landmark and the story behind it?
Where the flue used to join the chimney
Looking up
The Ballycorus lead mines and associated smelting centre further down the hill, in deference to health concerns routed its fumes via a stone flue (duct) to this chimney. The chimney used to be taller but the top section was removed more recently for safety's sake. Likewise the spiral stairs have been partly demolished near the bottom to prevent people like me killing themselves.
According to Wikipedia, the flue was about 2 km long and this length allowed lead to be precipitated on its inside surfaces from the smelting fumes. Operatives were given the task of scraping the lead deposits off the inside of the flue, and they promptly died young as a result so that the area became called "Death Valley". Such is the greed and stupidity of man. Similar stories have been told about must-haves such as mercury and asbestos. In time I wonder what stories will be told of must-have cell-phones?
Distant developments at Brides Glen stop, from the viaduct
The green Luas line follows part of the course of the old Harcourt street railway line, for example it uses its viaduct over the river Dodder near Milltown. So I naturally thought that, if extended, it would cross the Bride's Glen viaduct. But an aerial view makes this seem unlikely...
Aerial view of alignment of Luas line and viaduct
Harcourt Street Station facade
The terminus station building in Harcourt Street still exists, as indeed does the building that errant locomotive crashed through in 1900 which so reminded me of the similar crash at Montparnasse as depicted in my favourite film Hugo in the clip below.
North of the city centre the green line utilises the old MGWR route to its Broadstone terminus and thus passes under two handy ready-made bridges under the busy North Circular and Cabra roads. The diagram below is a helpful (though historic) summary of the contorted rail routes in this area and converging on Connolly station. And thus the green Luas ends adjacent to the Irish Rail Broombridge stop at which I shivered (there is no shelter) waiting for an overdue train to Connolly station.
The green Luas uses the old Broadstone route
Broombridge, where Luas, Irish Rail and Royal Canal meet
For well over a year there was a travelling family living in a caravan parked just off the road by the roundabout going into Naas from Ballymore. Complete with garden shed and, during the festive season, their own Christmas tree. And they didn't get moved on by the Guards. The travelling community appears to have certain unwritten rights of domicile anywhere, here in Ireland. I am pretty sure that if I holed up beside a busy road I'd be moved on.
And then I read this editorial about a Somali woman and son who have lived on a bench in South London for four years.
I am impressed by the care the local council are giving them and somehow glad that they have been allowed to go on living this way, for they are not hurting anyone. But again I wonder what would happen if you or I decided to do the same. You'd need some stick-ability.
Because I too have wondered from time to time about some sort of alternative living arrangements. Like one of these "tiny homes" or even a caravan.
According to Wikipedia, the idea of so called Daylight Saving was first proposed by George Hudson in 1895. And this imbecile system has continued until the present day, although much of the world sensibly eschews it.
George
It is an example of politics trying to gain control over nature. Politicians would do better to concentrate on what they are good at. But maybe that leaves them with so much spare time on their hands that they cannot help but come up with ridiculous schemes. Leastways George apparently came up with the idea in his spare time.
Without doubt the "arrow of time" moves in one direction only, and a clock is a device that measures that progress. No time machine has yet been invented that can reverse the flow. Except for daylight saving.
If indeed it is helpful to shift work hours biannually, whatever is wrong with simply changing the times at which the work day begins and ends, rather than changing the clock?
Eternal blue skies, hot weather, brown grass and fake skies be blowed - I'd rather have Ireland any day, even though it's perishingly cold at the moment. My usual circuit plus a bit of the lake today, bare foot of course.
I'm in Las Vegas on a business trip. This evening my host drove me up and down "the strip" and then we ate in a pub-like place in a boulevard under the New York New York Hotel. It's like a shopping mal - you walk on simulated cobbled streets, with a zillion stories of hotel above and weighing down on top of you. It reminded me of Senlin's experience in the Tower of Babel. The whole edifice of this hotel and the strip in general has one purpose - to suck money out of those unfortunates that happen there. With much entertainments, flashing lights, vain promises and banter. Oh, and there are numerous "wedding chapels" where you can get married for a song. Trouble is I had no girl with me...
Stock photo of the New York New York
Looking upwards to an LED canopy above the road
One of the incredibly bright high res LED billboards
The boulevard under the New York New York hotel
Searchlight atop a hotel that looks like a Egyptian pyramid
Edison did an outstanding job - where would we be today without electric light? But given the choice between natural and artificial light I'd choose the former any day. And so it is that at this time of the year I eat my breakfast by the light of the dawn, until Other People here emerge from their beds and turn lights on All Over The Place claiming they cannot otherwise see. So strange. These are people who would rather run on a rubber belt in an unattractive shed than enjoy the real world, the wind caressing one's body, glorious vistas, maybe a dip in the lake. One of my grandchildren barges in and turns all ten ceiling spots on. Someone else turns the kitchen lights on to make coffee, then exits leaving them on. And we have to have lights continuously burning 24/7 in the corridors because otherwise how would folk get around? Thankfully at least we now use low energy bulbs.
Ali has just had her second hip replacement and we are awaiting her release from the hospital. Meanwhile, Sunday afternoon and on the way home from visiting, I stopped by Saggart Woods overlooking Dublin - I have been meaning to explore there for some time.
5.43 miles, elevation gain 299m
There are some forestry tracks marked on the map, and numerous other paths not marked, frequented and maybe made by BMX cyclists. And quite a few dog walkers out. There is a bunch of communications towers at the top of Saggart Hill (lower left on my map) which became my goal.
I have mentioned Saint-Saëns Symphony No 3 before. I raved about it in teenage years whilst at school with nickname SSS. It has been somewhat mutilated in common culture by its use in that dreadful film Babe, but that's OK because I've never been common and don't intend to start now.
So I was listening to this recording in a Proms concert and came all over with possessive feelings about the Royal Albert Hall, the BBC, and indeed London then England in general. I am English, after all, and cannot help it. I was born like it. Is that wrong? Even though I do not think I have ever had the privilege of attending a Proms concert, that being not for lack of desire but because of other persuasions.
Here in Dublin we have the National Concert Hall which is OK but not quite the same. You can say what you like about Brexit or not Brexit, about the Empire and all its dreadful atrocities, but there is something solid about England. Winchester. Oxford. Even Cambridge. The Pennines. Devon and Cornwall. Hampshire. Alresford. This is My England. I wonder will I ever live there again?
Unlike http://theozreport.blogspot.com the primary purpose of this blog is not to keep family and friends informed of my actions or movements. Any such information is thus quite accidental. But I could not let last week's shenanigans pass without some reference so here are a few random photos to celebrate K and D's visit.
Bedraggled K & D on a very wet day at Wicklow town
I am just a poor boy Though my story's seldom told I have squandered my resistance For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises All lies and jests Still a man hears what he wants to hear And disregards the rest ... In the clearing stands a boxer And a fighter by his trade And he carries the reminders Of ev'ry glove that laid him down Or cut him till he cried out In his anger and his shame "I am leaving, I am leaving" But the fighter still remains, mmm mmm Simon and Garfunkel, 1969
Possibly their greatest song both for its music, its lyrics and its truth. Paul said "I think the song was about me". Me too. What if the promises I believe in are a bunch of mumbles? If they are not then to say so is rank blasphemy and there's the rub. And that last stanza - how strongly it resonates with my experience. Where would I go? But the fighter still remains!
