The Last Straw: When - a few years ago - this column proposed a radical solution to Dublin's public transport problems, involving the demolition of Trinity College and its relocation to a green-field site near Leixlip, the suggestion was not completely serious.
But you can never underestimate the power of an idea. And it was with a mixture of pride and alarm this week that I noticed my proposal is gaining ground.
First comes news that the Railway Procurement Agency (RPA) may consider "moving the wall and railings" of the university to accommodate a Luas link-line. The RPA doesn't go so far as to suggest moving them to Kildare. But then again, if I were it, I'd start modestly too.
Next comes a letter to this paper suggesting that the line could run through the campus. And while this too falls well short of my proposal that the university be levelled at short notice, and over an August bank holiday weekend to minimise student protests, it would also set a precedent for the gradual erosion of the college. Next thing you know, Dublin Bus might be eyeing the croquet lawn for a city garage.
Meanwhile, also this week, lamenting the practical difficulties of combining tramlines with bus routes, Garret FitzGerald summed up Dublin's unique traffic problem better than I could.
"Trinity College is in the way," he said.
It wasn't always. When it was built, Trinity was deliberately located outside the city. Unfortunately, Dublin has been heading east ever since, and the college would never get planning permission now. But there it stands, in de middle of Ireland's busiest streets, its well-contented belly sticking out into College Green, nudging unwary pedestrians into the path of oncoming cars.
I quite like the idea of running Luas through the campus. It could probably be done with minimal damage, and the loss of only the cricket pitch, the rugby grounds, and - with a bit of luck - the arts block. But the genie is out of the bottle now; it's probably only a matter of time before the brutal logic of my original proposal wins out. I'd still favour the August bank holiday.
IF THE RPA doesn't do for Trinity, the relentless spread of women's clothes shops will. Already, some of the international designer chains must be targeting the Provost's House, with its unique "footprint" at No 1 Grafton Street, and the Luas stopping just behind it (soon). Surely its retail potential cannot go untapped forever.
The note of bitterness you sense creeping in here is that of a long-time Bewley's customer still appalled by the news that the Grafton Street café is to make way for yet another fashion store. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the idea of women wearing clothes, or of shops that cater for this habit. But do we need so many? And is the fact that these are now the only businesses able to pay Grafton Street rents not a comment on their profits? As a concerned male, I worry that the female urge for clothes is being exploited. Isn't it time the Government recognised this for what it is - a social problem - and helped these women, by introducing stricter store licensing laws?
But back to Bewley's, of which we will soon have only memories. Many of mine would be of Sunday mornings reading the papers in Grafton Street, an experience that satisfied several needs at once. You'd go away caffeinated, informed and - thanks to the stained-glass windows - you'd think you'd been to church. But my classic Bewley's memory would be of an occasion in Westmoreland Street, around 1996.
It was late evening. A pleasant gloom had descended on the place, as it always did. The tea-time crowds had gone and only the tinkle of crockery disturbed the dead quiet. It was as if the world was standing still. Then a small section of the ceiling collapsed beside me, resulting in the evacuation of the premises. I rushed back to the newsroom and wrote an eyewitness account for the next day's paper. Happy days! Despite the fortune I spent trying to save them, I blame myself for the cafés' demise. In 20-odd years as a customer, it seemed to me they never fully got the hang of making coffee. But being Irish, I never complained if the beans were over-roasted or the fried egg was vulcanised, and maybe nobody else did either. This would not have helped when the competition from newer café chains started to bite.
I never filled in the comment cards either. The only times I used these was to fold them surreptitiously and stick them under the leg of a table if it was short. Blank complaint cards under rickety table-legs: ironic or what?
