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Didn't spend much time with Dubliners in Dublin, summer 2001

I'm just writing. That's all I'm doing. That's all this website is. You don't have to like it.

I lived in Dublin the summer of 2001, but I didn't spend much time with Dubliners.

First I was in a hostel for a month or so, where I associated mostly with Canadians and French people.

Then I got a job at an Italian restaurant — and from there got a place to live with Italian and Spanish lads.

In another month or so, I found a new job at a French bakery, thinking it would be better. The bastards decided to wait until the head baker got back from holiday before letting me start the job they'd agreed to give me. I had said arrivederci to the other job, and consequently I began to be unable to pay rent. (70 quid/week to share a room on Mountjoy Square.)

When I told The owner of the bakery that I was fucked, he told me he had a place for me to live, on North Strand Road. I shared a two-bedroom flat with a young French lad, a co-worker and an ignorant shithead.

Soon I left the job, the apartment, and Dublin.

I lived in Ireland for donkey's years — much of the proceeding decade.

I met a couple of Dubs in Kilkenny, one a turkey muppet and the other a friend of mine.