There are far, far worse ways to spend a sunny afternoon in Dublin than this…

There are far, far worse ways to spend a sunny afternoon in Dublin than this…

I had a most pleasant day in Dublin last week. Not only did I further indulge my fetish for bling, but I found a kick-arse jacket.

It’s pink. Not every bloke can pull off wearing pink, but I (of course) look awesome in it. All I need now is some pink shoes to match.

No, I ain’t making this up, either.

I have to say, Dublin is probably my favourite city, and the only one I’d consider living in. It’s a capital city — vibrant and thriving, and full of hot totty — but also small enough to walk across in a couple of hours.

Best of all, I’ve found a little shop tucked away in an arcade where I can indulge my passion for silver rings and earrings (for some reason people often assume I’m gay. Can’t imagine why). Right now I’m sporting a new thumb ring, a Celtic thingie for my pinkie, and a skull ring. Next trip, it’s new earrings if I can find some I like.

But by far the highlight of my day was sitting in the sun on St Stephen’s Green while Mrs EBG went shopping in the mall.

I have to say, there are far, far worse ways to spend a sunny afternoon in Dublin than sitting there watching the girls go by. There’s just something so damned relaxing and therapeutic about watching totty doing what totty does on a sunny day — shopping.

I really don’t get the “shopping” thing women seem to be addicted to, you know. Being a typical bloke my own shopping trips are more like surgical strikes: you get in, buy buy the shit you need, and you get out. None of this wandering back and forth between shops getting all touchy feely with fabrics and stuff. But, hey, I’m not complaining. I must have had a good hour there to myself in the sun thinking lecherous thoughts about untold hundreds of women.

But it wasn’t all eye-candy and twitching Happy Bones. Cuz as with every inner-city park there was the inevitable gaggle of chavs, peasants, and commoners. No, scratch that: these were fully-fledged pikeys, carrying all their worldly possessions in battered carrier bags, sneering out at the world from lined, battered, and worn faces, hollow-eyed and gap-toothed.

I don’t know about you, but I have mixed feelings when I come across people like that. For many of them I feel a whole truckload of contempt. Sure, there are people who through no real fault of their own find themselves in reduced circumstances, and many of these people have issues with mental health. But not all of them, and it’s the hopelessness and the learned helplessness I find so hard to understand.

On the other hand, I also feel sad. In the Western world, at least, no one is really born in the gutter and there’s so much opportunity and choice I can’t help but think you’ve gotta work pretty had to keep yourself down at that level.

I dunno. I guess if I had all the answers I’d be god, and that’d mean I didn’t exist. Arf, arf.

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Cuz if you can get things ticking along smoothly, you, too, can take a day out to watch the totty strutting its stuff in the sun.

Just sayin’.

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