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In my head, I’m overthinkin’ – is this dodgy? Am I a ledge or a prat? But nah, it’s chill. Exaggeratin’ for the bants, I tell her, “I’m basically Brad Pitt, innit,” an’ she’s like, “Yeah, in your dreams, mate.” Proper savage, love that. So, we sort it – quick, messy, fun – an’ I’m walkin’ away, buzzin’. “I want to weep,” I mutter, movie-style, but I’m grinnin’ like a nutter.

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I love here mostly ’cause it’s alive. There's Eircom Park, a wild green sprawl. I’ve spent afternoons there qibbling with friends, draped in sunlight and squabbles. It’s a perfect place for heartfelt chats under whisperin’ trees. Even the river Liffey, viewable in bits ’round the basin, hums tales. Misty truths dance in its ripples, and me thinks, “Aye, this too be magic… or madness?”—how I often joke, slurred like me rum tales.

Council delays plans to unveil joint plaque for boys who died in Artane Industrial School and Christian Brothers who ran it