Monday, May 22, 2006

Ehhh, What's Up, Dub?

Bugs B: And he thought Yosemite Sam was some kind of dummyAn Spailpín Fánach got something of a fright last night as one of Dublin Bus’s chariots spirited your faithful correspondent southbound on O'Connell Street. While gazing out on that section of the street south of the Spire and north of Danny Boy himself, An Spailpín spied, with his little eye, several new statues. Who could these worthies be, ready to stand with Larkin, O’Connell and Parnell? Mick Collins, maybe? St Patrick, apostle of Ireland? Welcome back, Horatio, all is forgiven? A two faced statue, after Janus, to celebrate those two Dubliners with the greatest compassion for the oppressed masses, Bob Geldof and Dessie Farrell?

Not at all. Who-ever is in charge of the city reckons the most appropriate decoration for the main street in the capital city of the nation are ten or twelve foot high bronze bunny rabbits.

Rabbits. I ask you.

An Spailpín spent an earnest hour googling before posting this, trying to find out how it is that Dublin City thought it appropriate to bunnify O’Connell St, and I couldn’t dig up a damn thing. About the only thing I did find out was that, in Dublin City’s erudite opinion, a citizen of this great capital of the arts need only read one book to consider him or herself a fully rounded human being. Surprising, but true. Happily, the book chosen is a good one, but hey – check out David Copperfield sometime too. It’s a gas.

What’s going to happen to these rabbits? Will they breed out of control, as they did in rural Ireland until the State waged chemical warfare against them? Will they be seen as pagan symbols, likely to madden the definitely cotton-tailed head of Clíonaith, from Templelogue, studying 2nd Arts, Classics, in UCD and deeply committed to the future of the planet (the one book Clíonaith has read is Ms Klein’s, of course, but she’s hoping to fit in some Chomsky in about 2008)? Are Clíonaith and her homies going to dance naked in, out and around the damn things at midsummer, in some sort of ancient Celtic fertility rite? It’d be better than one of those incessant Sinn Féin parades of course, but dammit, since when did twelve foot rabbits come to represent the Great Gael of Ireland?

An Spailpín has difficulty in understanding why these things just spring up with no record of their ever having been discussed. That’s why Lord Mayor is a strictly honorary title in this town – one sniff of responsibility taking, can carrying or buck stopping and the entire council would be on their bikes, heading for the hills.

An Spailpín may investigate these strange phenomena later, on his way home from work, and report back in this forum. But if it’s raining, it’s straight to bed for your scribe, with nothing to get him through the night except LA Woman on CD, a volume of Ó Conaire and a 20 oz bottle of strong Presbyterians’ whiskey. After a while, there's just no point in fighting it anymore.

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