So the DART, Dublin’s light rail service (DART standing for Dublin Area Rapid Transit – haha) is 25 years old today. There was a time when I had to take the DART on a regular basis, thankfully those days are no longer.
I’m just a bit surprised though.
Normally you see the signs saying ‘Next DART anniversary in 12 months’. Then it goes to 14 months. Stays at 14 months for two years before one arrives without anybody knowing it.
You do see odd things on the DART though. I once saw a one-armed blind man trying to play an accordion. Which was much less amusing than it sounds. And I saw two men knocking the shite out of each other on the beach in Sandymount when the tide was out. Impressive fisticuffs. I saw a man stroke the hair of a girl he was standing behind on a packed train then sniffing his hand. He, I think, is probably a serial killer now.
So, 25 years of the DART, what’s your best memory?
I remember taking the Dart while on the way to that Feile they decided to have in the Point Depot that time,we were aiming to get in to see Beck who was on at about 7.30.
So we left in plenty of time and the dart pulled into Dunlaoghaire at about 6.30 and left shortly after.. Then we go into Booterstown and as the train left and was just past the end of the platform the it stopped,and there we stayed for 45 minutes,with no announcement as to why..
Arrived into the Point to see Beck saying “THank You Dublin!” and walking off stage..
Moving away from the cunting thing so I didn’t have to sit in my car watching the barriers go up and down 11 times in the pissing rain at Lansdowne Rd before I got through.
That supremely hot chick who was there in the morning at grand canal dock. num num.
Re : sniffing hair
That was ME …
>> He, I think, is probably a serial killer now
Nope decided to join the priesthood instead
That explains a lot, FG. A lot.
Pushing your mate out at the wrong stop he he he! But not getting pushed out, that was not fun!
My best memory of the DART. Every morning for 5 summers getting the Dart to Kilbarrack, Sheriff Street etc teaching how to play tennis as part of Dublin Corporations Parks Tennis Programme. And never having to pay once. Start at 10 a.m.; finish at 1 p.m.; get invited back by parents for lunch. Long, lazy fun days of summer youth is my DART memory. “Watch the ball; low to high; keep your feet moving, who stole my racquets?”
Approaching the level crossing as the orange lights start flashing and then aiming the car at the middle so when the barriers are coming down and the red lights are going, you just about make it through as the ariel twangs with inches to spare.
…I remember thinking that Sydney Parade must be the gayest sounding name for railway station in Europe.
Standing in the aisle, facing the back of the carriage as the train was moving – with my nose about half an inch from the door.
Then, jumping in the air and wondering why the door didn’t hit me in the face!
Commuting from Coolock to Shankill at one stage of my life.
Had to walk to Killester to get the DART. Pain in the ass.
But the view as you came out of the tunnel at Killiney was usually well worth it.
The Ross O Carrol Kelly accent the further down the loine you go roysh.
The shot of the Dart going over Butt Bridge in The Commitments.
Similar stories all the time on the TTC (Toronto
http://torontoicarus.blogspot.com/2009/07/funny-thing-happened-on-ttc.html
http://torontoicarus.blogspot.com/2009/04/ttc.html
Watching 2 junkies go at it on a packed rush hour carriage a couple of years ago. Never has sex looked less appealing, the sight of these 2 yellow faced skangers going at it (girl on top I might add) would make you want to chop your willy off. I vaguely remember the girl (i’m using the term loosely here) saying something along the lines of “gerrih in dere, roi’ in dere”. Then they just jumped up and got off at sandymount. Solid knacker Gold it was, in all in anywayz.
a lad i knew got caught bunking and told the inspector his name was “peter o tool” and broke down laughing at him as soon as he said this!
He got away with it, (peter o tool didn’t mind)!!!
Doubt the inspectors nowadays have the same sense of humor!
“Then they just jumped up and got off at sandymount.”
Surely not.
Coming back from the homecoming for the Irish football team after Italia ’90. A a crowd of drunken lads singing ‘ole ole’spotted a black guy sitting quietly, minding his own business. They grabbed a hold of him, hoisted him in a horizontal position on to their shoulders, and carried him up and down the train singing, ‘Roger milla, Roger milla’. You didn’t see to many black people in Ireland those days. It was clearly very exciting.
Watching two 12 year olds with a superquinn bag full of what looked to be paint strapped to their face taking deep breaths.
I wonder where those go getters are these days.
Standing in Pearse station going north. There’s a girl on the southside of the tracks. For some inexplicable reason she drops her trousers. Growler and all exposed. Takes her jeans off. Pulls back up her knickers. Ties her jumper around her waist with the knot at the back so her ass is hangin out the back and the body bit of the jumper is at the front. Then just strolls onto the Dart as if nothing happened to the chorus of a few of the orange vested trackies wolf whistlin in the background. She didn’t look monged either. She was actually alright looking. Very strange.
My best memory of the dart! My girlfriend (at the time) was in a pig of a mood and decided that she wanted to have an arguement and basically discuss our private life in front of a whole carraige or people. So I’m not answering and told her why but she kept on going on and on and on…… My head is totally wrecked! We get to Sydney Parade and the doors open and stay open for about 5 mins. It’s a nice day so the anti-christ steps out for some fresh air. A few minutes pass, the doors close and she’s left behind. I’m sitting there thinking I should have gotten down on my knees and thank whatever god is in charge of trains for the one teeny tiny break. There is a god! There is a god!! Oh! no there isn’t actually… Sweet one though!
So you married her and how she’s your wife?
Driver going North overshoots Lansdowne Road. Dart screams to a halt half way across the level crossing. People rocket up the train like skittles. People look a bit worried. A minute of polite silence and coughing passes. Driver reverses the train. Over the intercom: “(Cough) Eh, sorry ’bout that.”
A Sunday in September, 1996. Singing our heads off all the way from Bray to Connolly, the morning before Wexford’s All Ireland hurling triumph over Limerick. The return journey was even better. One enterprising musician was sharing a bodhran full of chips with the delirious fans around him. There was a ticket inspector on board, who’s nerves got the better of him, so he requested (and received, in the shape of a cheeky young female Garda) backup – not that there was any trouble, but we were a little loud…
These days I drive to Tallaght or Leopardstown and get the Luas into town. Not the same at all…
some scumbag taking a dump as we pulled into Tara. He then stood up, pulled up his cacs and then stepped over his turds and piss and out of the train once the doors open. To this day brown plastic and green seats smell of scobie shite to me.
Pingback: Bespoke Communications Blog » Blog Archive » Inspired Series: VI of TBC