my blog is usually reserved for such things as arts and projects in which i am involved or in where an interest may lie for people who might read this, however this one is a bit more personal and it comes because i need to vent about an incident which happened yesterday in grafton street in dublin.
i feel a little like a drama queen for being so affected by it, but anyone who knows me knows i am a little bit of a drama queen, so it possibly runs with my character.
after getting back from a wonderful 2 weeks in the fjordic beauty of Norway’s city of Bergen, and the surrounding lands of Hordaland i was pleased, delighted and exhilarated to be back in the gorgeous city of Dublin, having missed my adopted home place so much. I had a walk around the city and a meeting in the fringe festival offices in Sackville place off O’Connell street, a totter round Temple Bar, and then onto Dame Street and Grafton Street on my way home to the lovely end of town known as Leeson Street Upper. Chit chatting away as I often do on my phone, I strode through Grafton Street.
Then from behind me from nowhere came what felt like someone jumping on my back. You know when a friend acts the cod as we say and for a split second I thought it was someone I knew perhaps, and like lightening the guy, who I didn’t even have time to see pinned one side of me so I couldn’t move and ripped my phone from my hand and ear and sprinted like a highly tuned athlete down towards Molly Malone’s statue and round the corner out of sight to Dame Street. The reaction time for me was quite fast I think, but in heels and a bag laden with lap-top and a gizillion sketch books there was no way i was going to catch up with him, even if he was out of it on heroin. I ran down the street in his wake like a crazed looney just escaped from the confines of a nice padded cell shouting ‘stop that thief’ and ‘the bastard took my phone’ and various other profanities and noticed that a fellow pedestrian on the Grafton street route was chasing after the thief, as I ran oh so pathetically after them , I prayed that the heroic passerby had retrieved the phone.
when i reached the tobacco shop opposite trinity, one of the journalists covering the nutshell in Bergen greeted me and i was about to apologise for not being able to stop as a thief was running up the street with my phone (and consequently all of my info and more importantly video footage and artistic ideas that will now be backed up daily !).
in a miraculous twist of events, the man who had just shared a great experience of music and friendship in norway was standing there with my phone, he was the strange passerby who heroically chased down a junkie thief through the streets of dublin. i am so thankful and do believe that perhaps using the word miracle is strong, but i am great at the ‘ol hyperbole, but really and truly it is hard to believe that the one person who decided to confront the situation (and grafton street was packed as i shouted ‘stop the thief’ ) was someone i knew.
yesterday i was a little shaken by it, but more relieved at getting my phone back and being unharmed and intrigued by the notion of how small the world is. but today, i feel violated and vulnerable and exhausted from a night of sleeplessness and bad dreams when the lids eventually shut. shock or whatever this feeling is , is a strange thing.
i know this is a personal rant, and my apologies for putting people through the bad grammar and the clear ignorance to devices such as capital letters and commas etc. but this is a rant, a venting of things, and also a public announcement to beware of talking on the phone on the street in dublin right now. and hug as many people as you can
here’s a picture to leave you with. i finished this painting this week in Norway.
Nedbør - oil on canvas 100 x 100
