A few years ago, writing in a highly uninfluential business magazine, I suggested that many of central Dublin's traffic problems could be solved if only the authorities had the courage to do what was best in the long-term interests of the city and, to cut a long story short, demolish Trinity College.
It was a radical plan, I admit. Too radical for those so-called experts debating the future of Dublin, who simply ignored my contribution as if it hadn't happened. It gives me no pleasure to say so now, but despite all their bright ideas, the traffic has grown steadily worse in the intervening period, and the case for getting rid of Trinity has grown with it.
This is not a personal thing. I like Trinity College. I like its lawns, its cobbled courtyards, its hallowed, time-honoured treasures, including the Long Library and Prof Brendan Kennelly. It is an oasis of calm in the middle of the city, and just to stroll through it from Nassau Street is a balm for your troubled mind, allowing you to emerge again on College Green soothed and relaxed, and liable to get run over by a bus if you don't wake up.
But the point about Trinity is, it's in the way. It is the cause of a situation in which, for example, if you need to drive from Clare Street to Kildare Street, a distance of a few metres, you have to do so either via Merrion Square and St Stephen's Green, a trip that in heavy traffic can take up to a day; or by embarking on the circumnavigation of the university, via Westland Row, Pearse Street, College Street, Kinnegad, etc, etc.
And that's only one example. In many other ways, the college causes huge dislocation of the city centre, a situation its founders never intended. When it was established four centuries ago, Trinity was located a careful distance from central Dublin, which was then somewhere up around Christ Church. But the city's historic march to the sea (and even it had to take the long way around) gradually made the college the major traffic obstruction it is today.
Anyway, the Trinity situation was exacerbated by the development of Temple Bar. It's hard to imagine now, but as recently as the 1980s this was a derelict area, earmarked for development as a bus garage, until Charles Haughey took the decision that made it what it is today (and let's not be too hard on him about this - he couldn't have known).
With the all-but-pedestrianised Temple Bar on one side and Trinity on the other, vast volumes of traffic are now forced through the narrow straits of College Green; where desperate Dubliners trying to cross the road tap Morse Code messages into the pedestrian traffic-light buttons, hoping to find the permutation that will finally make them turn green (the lights, not the pedestrians).
As I've acknowledged, however, Trinity is a national treasure; and I wasn't seriously suggesting in the article that we demolish it (although, if the bulldozer option were to be taken, the morning after the annual ball would be the time to move in - no organised student protests that way). In fact, I proposed it be dismantled, brick-by-brick, and reassembled lovingly on a green-field site in west Dublin. Where, apart from anything else, there would be fewer distractions from study.
Thanks to the college's recent building-programme, there are a lot more bricks in Trinity now than when I first mooted the argument. But that's not my fault, and I still think the plan is feasible. It might be unpopular at first, but I think we can do it if we're serious; and on foot of events this week I have a further suggestion.
You probably read how the college "regretfully" refused a request from Kells for a temporary loan of the eponymous book. "Security and environmental" concerns were cited, an explanation dismissed by disappointed campaigners in the Co Meath town, where many argue for the book's permanent relocation. In all fairness, Trinity could hardly be expected to let go of an asset which has put it firmly on the world tourist map. But the obvious solution to the conundrum is: move the whole university to Kells!
It's so simple an idea, it's beautiful. It's bold; it's visionary; and, call me cynical, I predict it will be completely ignored by the so-called "serious" thinkers.
Last week's column, which addressed the issue of whether Irish soccer supporters would ever acquire the maturity necessary to be able to cheer for England, appears to have struck a chord. It's clear that there are a great many of you whose fervent prayer is: Lord, make me mature enough to be able to cheer for England; but not yet.
Typical of the sentiment was a long-distance e-mail from Brendan O'Dea, an Irishman who moved to New Zealand 13 years ago. Now an ardent fan of the All-Blacks, he has learned, like all Kiwi rugby supporters, to regard South Africa as "the natural enemy". Which just goes to prove a point I made last week: that these sporting rivalries have little to do with politics or history.
Admittedly, when South Africa played England last weekend, Brendan had mixed feelings, and found himself hoping, on balance, that South Africa would win; or to use his exact words "crucify the English". So the message is, maturity doesn't come easy for Irish supporters. But the important thing is, we're trying.
Frank McNally can be contacted at fmcnally@irish-times.ie
