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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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Fog Laoghaire

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‘No, Jim, it is not really happening. You are dreaming. It is that recurring dream you have. The one that keeps coming back. Every Monday morning. When you dream that it is Monday morning. But it is not Monday morning. It is just that dream. That bad, recurring dream. You are going to wake up Jim. And it will no longer be Monday morning. You are going to wake up and it will be Friday night. In the pub. With your mates. And there will be much merriment. You will wake up and it will be Friday night… but… but… you don’t sleep on Friday nights. So… so… you can’t wake up on Friday night… What is happening? You are sleeping. You are sleeping and you are having a bad dream. Fitful sleep usually brings bad dreams. You usually have fitful sleep on the train. Especially on Monday mornings. Oh shite. You are dreaming that it is Monday morning, because it is Monday morning. Oh bollix, you are going to wake up any moment now… and it will be… it will be… oh shite… it will be Monday morning!’

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Prise de tête

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The First Class section of the Dart is now equipped with sleeper cars.

Which is nice.

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First Class

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The two victims of the latest Sleeping Gas attack on the Dart this morning…

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Tranquilizer Dart

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Tell me about it…
It’s 21:40 and I still have it.
I am actually convinced that it will seamlessly mutate into that Tuesday morning feeling.

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That Monday morning feeling…

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I’ve missed the Dart.
Two whole months without my favourite green and yellow train…

Got on a rather busy carriage this morning that had two full sets of free seats!

I wonder if it had anything to do with the close vicinity of Dwayne, and Gerry, and Big Blue Eyes, who were merrily on their way to the 40 Foot for a splash.

With just the bare essentials with them in a shoulder bag: an old pair of shorts-cum-swimming togs each, a towel, two liter bottles of Smirnoff, two big bottles of 7UP.

Always the giver of unsolicited advice, I sort of hinted at the fact that too much vodka before a dip in the icy Irish Sea may not be exactly conductive to aquatic prowesses.

I wished them good luck, with the diving, and the drinking, and the sunburns.

I’ll email them the shots.
If they ever resurface.

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Dwayne and Gerry on Dart TV

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