The Luas. Millions of euro over budget, months behind schedule and the source of seemingly endless inconvenience for motorists, pedestrians, motorcyclists and shopkeepers alike, not to mention the bent front tyre on my bicycle. All I can say is that it better be worth it, writes Kilian Doyle
That said, I've seen a few gliding gracefully down the city streets in recent weeks, glinting in the sun and I have to - grudgingly - concede the Luas is pretty damn sexy. For a tram.
While I'm loathe to be the harbinger of doom, I have one massive reservation about it - namely its potential for the pizzafication of humans.
So convinced am I of impending tragedy that I'm considering opening a book on how long it takes for someone to get splattered, be it pedestrian, cyclist or otherwise. My money is on a floothered Friday night reveller being flattened by the end of next month, if not sooner.
I've oft heard the argument that the pulverisation of pedestrians is a rarity in other European cities where trams exist, so why should it be any different here? For several reasons.
First off, there's unfamiliarity: it's going to take some time for Dublin's vast population of two-legged lemmings to cotton on to the tricks of skipping in front of trams.
For many city jaywalkers, traversing traffic-filled roads has become something of an artform. Ears and eyes finely tuned to the ebb and flow of the vehicular current, oftentimes it's magical to watch. Not for them the conventions of waiting patiently on the kerb until they are beckoned across by the little green fella.
But the tram is going to throw an almighty spanner in their works. Not only is it quick as bejaysus, but it's also practically silent - it creeps up on you like a Sinn Féin election canvasser and, by the time you've realised the danger you're in, it's too late. You're trapped. Unless you're compos mentis at all times, you've no chance.
Which brings us neatly to the final, most obvious reason - the vast majority of the population in Dublin city centre at night is decidedly not in possession of all its faculties. To put it crudely, the whole city is invariably pissed.
We in Ireland have somehow managed to turn wandering drunk into oncoming traffic into a national obsession. Come chucking out time in Dublin city, it becomes a sport.
Now, seeing as you're no doubt quivering in fear at the prospect of being bisected by a train in the next few weeks, it's probably time to let you in on a little secret, something the Rail Procurement Agency has declined to tell the general populace. Presumably it's concerned that, by drawing attention to the safety features, it is also by definition drawing attention to the dangers.
Titter ye not, but Luas wears a little skirt. Now, I haven't seen it myself, despite getting down on hands and knees in Harcourt Street to inspect a passing tram, much to the horror of a passing coachload of tourists. But I have it on good authority that it's there, protecting the front wheels from pesky humans who will insist on getting sucked underneath and sliced into human coleslaw.
So now you know. Getting run over mightn't be that bad after all. Might actually be a laugh. You could compete with your mates to see how far you can get dragged along Abbey Street.
Maybe I shouldn't have divulged that particular nugget - you know how the Irish like a challenge. We'll be throwing ourselves in the road come next week.