Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Fairfield Road

I was on Fairfield Road last night, visiting a friend of mine who still lives there, the street I grew up on.

You probably know it. Drive from Phibsborough towards Glasnevin, head down Botanic Road and it's down there on your right with a Bank Of Ireland as a landmark. You've probably passed it.

I haven't been down there much lately, maybe twice or three times in the five years since I left the area. Feels like longer. It was quiet last night and I was slightly annoyed I didn't get to meet any of the old neighbours.

"What are you doing with yourself?"

"Well, I'm still in Seta... actually, no, I'm not. I have to stop telling people that. I'm dolerising. You?"

Nobody was about though.

I wanted to kick a ball into the Leahy's garden, knock on the window and run away. I wanted to do a knick-knack on Leo's house next door. I wanted to give my one fingered salute to Donal Gunn across the road. I wanted to run and trip and bleed, just very slightly. I wanted to knock into Kev's to see if he was playing heads and volleys or last man back. I wanted to see my grandmother walking down the street from her sitting room window, looking stately and careful in her beige coat.

I rang Austin's bell, many things the same as when his family lived there. The back garden with toys for his brothers' children, where we used to convene and kick each other accidentally.

He told me about the neighbours, who has been scandalised by this and that, who has died or moved out and the people that have taken their place. I went outside to the front for another look. The trees that were never there before and nobody stirring, still.

I left close to 1am, drunk, walking up to the bank on the right-hand side and in a certain split second I was seven, I was 12, I was 22, I was home.

18 comments:

McMuck said...

When the bulldozers come raging in to clear room for 100,000 Fairfield Road apartments in the next property bubble, they should leave that tiny half-house standing, preserved in a weedy, beer can littered, stained carpeted paradise.

Do you think the current dwellers will hand over the keys for a night? Just one night?

Radge said...

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably not.

adogwoof said...

À la recherche du temps perdu...

Holemaster said...

Great post Radge. I get the heebie jeebies when I head up towards Whitehall Road. Everyone is dying up there.

NaRocRoc said...

Ah sure we're all dying HM, doesn't mean we're not still living tho!

Nice post Radgemeister.

Radge said...

Thanks gents.

hope said...

I'm glad you're doing something between drinks. ;)

Nice walk down your memory lane...thanks for taking us along.

Sarah Gostrangely said...

in a certain split second I was seven, I was 12, I was 22, I was home

Lovely sentence. Pacy.

Radge said...

My pleasure, Hope.

Thanks Sarah.

Therese Cox said...

This post makes me want to run and trip and bleed slightly too. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.

Therese Cox said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Meadow said...

Lovely post. It's the tiny things...

Did something similiar tonight but it made me kind of sad. Not on Fairfield Road though - never been there - but if ever I am, I'll be calling into Austin's for a cuppa.

The Hangar Queen said...

Great post. It's good to wind the clock now and again.

I've made that walk enough times too.

Radge said...

Therese - It was taken in the nicest way possible.

Meadow - He makes a fine host, but he will get you drunk. It's his thing that he does.

Hangar Queen - Felt very strange after being there, but that was probably the beer.

Lyndsay said...

You lured me out of lurking with this one Radge. Loved it.

Radge said...

Thanks Lyndsay. I love it when people come out of hiding.

Anonymous said...

Tears again... I'll get you for this!

Radge said...

Yeah, you will. No doubt about it.