The Irish Times

Ormond Quay, Dublin 1, 7.50am: Out the door, sleepyhead. When you live on the city's quays, your rude awakening to the full shock and awe of the capital's morning traffic is but a few strides from the hall door. A sharp intake of carbon-monoxide-infused breath and you're ready to go mano-a-mano with the articulated trucks hurtling in both directions, as you and your fellow bipeds dawdle at the pedestrian crossing, the light sequence firmly weighted in favour of your 16-wheel adversaries. Hello, Dublin! Don't get me wrong, I love living in the heart of Dublin. Growing up in Monkstown, deep in the heart of the "borough" and its hissing summer lawns, "town" held a dangerous allure, a place far from Mammy's apron strings, where you could finally emerge from your suburban chrysalis and blossom into the very embodiment of downtown, boho cool. A quarter of a century on, that last bit remains elusive, but Dublin stubbornly remains the city where I want to be. A few improvements wouldn't hurt, though.