The Sounds of Dublin:
The clang of empty beer kegs on a footpath early in the morning.
The thump of full beer kegs on jute bags filled with cork and made in Nottingham by a company called Murphy & Son. (With thanks to the current issue of Dublin Inquirer.)
The bells of Christ Church.
The bells of Dublin Bikes.
Tourists doing the “Viking Roar”.
A taped backing track doing the Viking Roar for tourists too polite to do it themselves (ie most of them).
Seagulls squawking.
Seagulls fighting with each other (and occasionally with people) over food.
Seagulls urgently ripping holes in refuse sacks before the bin lorries arrive to take them away.
“Anyone buyin’ or sellin’ a ticket?”
“Hats, scarves, or headbands.”
“Stewards to end-of-match positions, please.”
The man who keeps saying: “Stand clear! Luggage doors operating.”
Two eejit drivers getting thick with each other and debating the rules of the road at length with car horns.
The unexpected roar of a lion as you pass Dublin Zoo.
The reassuring quack of ducks in St Stephen’s Green.
Horses’ hooves on the streets around Guinness’s.
Someone singing, “Grace, just hold me in your arms and let this moment linger” 20 times a day on Grafton Street.
Foghorn voices having arguments from one end of a street to the other, while perforating the eardrums of anyone unlucky enough to pass them at the wrong moment.
“Three euro each or two for a fiver.”
The “whoosh” of that e-powered Deliveroo cyclist you didn’t see as he shot by within centimetres of your nose at 30 miles an hour.
Damien Dempsey.
Doireann Ní Bhriain (on the Luas).
Fontaines DC.
The rattle of Dublin Bikes (and their users’ teeth fillings) as they cycle on cobblestoned streets.
The satisfying double “ping” of a bike returned safely to its station.
The high C of a soprano escaping from a window at the Royal Irish Academy of Music on Westland Row.
People just having the craic.
People talking about crack (see below).
Actual snippet of conversation heard recently in the park behind Christ Church. First woman: “Then she gave me her pipe to finish – she was lightin’ a new one for herself. So I told her, ‘Ye can shove that up yer gee’.” Second woman: “Fair play to ye. I’da said the same.”
Strangulated vowel sounds in words like “sythside”, and “rndabyte”, and “Monkstyne”.
“Roysh?”
Tour guides explaining such ancient Dublin traditions as the luck conferred on those who rub Molly Malone’s bosoms.
“Want flowers, love?”
“Can ye help me please? I’m short five euro for a hostel.”
The cheerful ding of a Luas tram as it politely draws the attention of pedestrians to its approach.
The angry honk of a Luas tram as a pedestrian with earphones makes a last-minute decision to cross the tracks, oblivious.
Drunken singalongs in the middle of the afternoon in tourist pubs.
The ould triangle going jingle jangle/All along the banks of Temple Bar.
People reading literature in broad daylight, outdoors, on June 16th.
Tour guides talking about Oscar Wilde or Brendan Behan as if they used to know them personally.
The thwack of cricket bats in Trinity Park.
Rattling windows on the upper decks of Dublin buses.
Division bells ringing from inside the Dáil and TDs hurrying back to the House to vote.
The patter of lobbyists’ tiny feet.
Money talking, quietly.
Shops playing Christmas songs in October.
Preachers on Grafton Street warning people to repent now, before it’s too late.