Daily Photo: Brassière or Brasserie?
Before arriving in Dublin, I’d been given a vague rundown of what we’d be doing and an even vaguer idea of where we’d be staying. So, to fill the time on the very long flight from Singapore to Heathrow, I decided to work my way through a bit of Dublin’s history in a book I’d brought with me, rather than sitting through the seemingly endless selection of inflight movies, which always appears to consist of romantic comedies, love-filled dramas and Mamma Mia on almost permanent rotation.
I figured a little reading might be more useful, although I use the word “useful” rather generously. Most of what I was reading would probably never come in handy unless I found myself in a local pub quiz in some small Irish village. Among the random bits and pieces was a mention of George’s Street Arcade. I’d been told about the arcade because it was one of the vague places that might be worth wandering around while we were in Dublin.
So imagine my surprise when, two days after Christmas, I was wandering the streets of Dublin, quietly humming the well-known tune of “Cockles and Mussels”, when I turned a corner and there it was.
George’s Street Arcade.
The entrance seemed to guide me in through a collection of carefully placed Christmas trees, and inside there was a quiet, post-Christmas lull. Overhead, Victorian ironwork framed a soft glow from the lingering festive lights, while the red brick walls provided shelter from the passing drizzle. The whole place had a slow, agreeable rhythm to it.
People drifted between stalls piled high with faded vinyl, pre-loved clothing and paperbacks whose pages seemed to smell faintly of someone else’s history. The smell of coffee filled the chilly air, footsteps echoed softly across the worn tiles, and the muted chatter of shoppers gave the place the sort of atmosphere that encouraged you to slow down and have a look around, even if you had no particular idea what you were looking for.
I wandered around for a while, taking it all in, before eventually heading back out onto South Great George’s Street. I stood there for a moment, looking around to see if anything else caught my eye, then headed off in the direction of St Stephen’s Green and hoped, as I often do in unfamiliar cities, that I wouldn’t get lost.
Although I did manage to misread a sign across the road. At first glance, I thought it said Brassière Sixty Six, which seemed like a remarkably large and rather upmarket shop devoted entirely to bras. The window display seemed a little odd, but then again, I wasn’t entirely sure what the Dublin lingerie market was like. It took me a moment to realise that it actually said Brasserie Sixty Six, a popular Dublin restaurant.
Which suddenly explained why the clientele appeared to be overwhelmingly male.
