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Terminus

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Last 7.40AM dart from Salthill to Kilbarrack.

Over the past five years, Luca and I have:

– travelled thousands of miles in varying degrees of overcrowdedness
– received new strains of the lurgy from half of our co-commuters
– and passed it on to the other half
– inhaled dozens of farts
– produced a few (mostly Luca – and me the morning after a Big Nose Club meeting)
– paid scary amounts of money for the privilege of travelling on the most-expensive-per-mile commuter train in Europe (I was particularly delighted that time when the price of my weekly ticket increased by 29% in one go)
– had three altercations. Well me. There was the “we’ll-have-a-vote-and-see-if-the-others-want-the-window-open-oh-see-no-they-don’t-either” stand-off. There was the “I-value-the-comfort-of-my-arse-more-than-the-well-being-of-your-designer-handbag” episode. And there was the “have-a-kleenex-no-i-insist-cause-if-you-loudly-snort-your-nasal-phlegm-one-more-time-i’ll-headbutt-you” row.
–  also had dozens of laughs and met some of the friendliest commuters in the world (by commuting standards)

And I will miss all of this.

At least I got a 75 page photobook out of it, to remember the good old days.

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IMG_4809Bush inspector chez Iarnrod Eireann.

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Darren

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You know you are an old fart when

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you reckon that the young blue-haired muppet sitting opposite you looks too young to be tattooed.

But fair enough, he is entitled to do as he wish with derma, and epiderma. What really got up my nose was when he extended his underused spindly legs and put his feet on the seat. Next to me?!

Bollix to that, I said to myself. And I took his photograph. And I didn’t ask for his permission oh no. Anyway, he was so absorbed in the contemplation of pandas doing funny things on YouTube that he didn’t notice.

He did notice however when I extended my legs and put my own feet on the seat next to him. And rolled up my sleeves. And gave him the look.

His feet were reunited with the floor pretty fast.

Not a word was exchanged.

We darted on.

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like son…

I managed to rouse for long enough to feebly lift the camera to my own teary eye before collapsing back across my double seat, moaning softly at the thought of heading back to work for another week of corporate fun and frolics.

 

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Like father

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If you close your eyes really really tight.

It’s not happening.

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Monday morning

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It has been a while.
We haven’t had these carriages with the dart tv handles for months.

Robert was up bright and early, off to meet some mates of his, for a big walk in the Wicklow hills.

I nearly told him that I too intend to go for some exploration of the Wicklow hills with my mates when I am retired.
At the age of 87. But preferably only after 4×4 mobility chairs have been invented.

But I thought that it may have sounded a touch too cynical to a total stranger. At 8.10am.

Instead I obliged to the ninja-kid who asked demanded to have his doggy photographed. 

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Robert on Dart TV

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Ghost of Customer Service Future

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The Irish Rail unions have successfully managed to derail plans by the company to introduce Dart services every 10 minutes at peak time.

At least, in a world otherwise choked by political correctness, it is good to know that the Dart drivers could not give a rat’s arse about the user’s experience. They are perfectly transparent and unapologetic about it.

Good on them.
Viva la revolucion brothers (and sister)

May you all come back in your next life as sheep piled up in a lorry on a transcontinental journey to the abattoir. 

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