Sneezing in the Wind

I hate getting colds. It's not the fact that my nose gets all stuffy, I sneeze constantly, my throat gets throbbingly sore and aches start to spread across my body. Oh, and there's the headaches as well.

No, all those pleasant things aren't the worst bits. The worst bit is that even though I'm as sick as can be and reduced to a zombie-like state, the world doesn't look upon it as a medically certifiable type of sickness. Take the day off and you're a wimp. Oh, his got man flu. Don't take the day off and your colleagues look at you as if you've got slabs of dead fungal skin falling off your face.

And if that isn't bad enough, I have now discovered a new low in terms of the effects of the common cold.

Ever tried sneezing with a full-face helmet with visor down while riding a Vespa at around 50-60 mph? Well, I have. Quite a lot actually seeing that I commute to work on a daily basis over the past four years. Fortunately, all the sneezing that I've done up to this stage have been limited to the polite, one could say, almost silent variety. A quiet personal achoo and that's it. No harm done.

My luck must've run out yesterday morning. On the way to work with my newly acquired cold (just in time to mark the transitional weather that accompanies autumn), I struggled breathing while trying to desperately balance the falling snot from a runny nose. Then without warning it came...

A mighty saliva-spewing, booger-blowing, head-jerking sneeze. ACHOO! The Vespa swerved slightly on the greasy tarmac and the car behind slowed down to keep its distance. Instinctively balancing the scooter back on the straight and narrow, I quickly realised that all was not well - my visor was completely covered in phlegm and I couldn't see a thing. And people say wearing an open-face helmet is dangerous?

Now, where did I put those anti-bacterial wipes...

What Is This Thing Called Summer?

Some days the weather here makes me wonder, what is the Irish word for summer? Well, judging by the past few weeks, I wouldn't be surprised if the word was synonymous with rain. Or hail. Or something along the lines of getting your balls wet and half-frozen while your face is continuously pelted with God only knows what.

Today's Friday and like most Fridays in these summer months, I have the opportunity of cutting the day short on the condition that I had done the required number of hours for the week. This week I had surpassed that requirement by the end of Wednesday. Not surprisingly, an hour or so after lunch time today, I was raring to go. Then, I looked out the window.

Half an hour, I told myself. Half an hour and it'll all go away.

At the same time, there was a collective sigh from the far side of the office. Needing to stretch my legs, that was enough of an excuse for me to head down in that general direction.

This rain couldn't possibly last that long - I kept trying to convince myself while taking the few steps to the opposite end of the floor.

When I got there, three or four of my colleagues were already deep in conversation. They turned away from the computer screen that their eyes had previously been glued to (I gathered that it was rainfall radar) and looked at me with a look of sympathy. I knew then there was little chance of me staying dry on my journey home.

Oh, and before I confuse anyone, the Irish word for summer is actually Samradh. And yes, those are winter gloves you see in the picture above. Didn't think I'd be needing them in June.

Unleashing the Rempit Within

Wednesday morning. I had been reminded on countless occasions that there would be road closures and traffic diversions over the next few weeks yet, I still reverted to auto-pilot mode and followed my normal route to work.

Not a good idea.

I could've been stuck in traffic for hours on end all because it was decided that the Queen would need the whole of Phoenix Park as her private playground. Fortunately, common sense prevailed. Phoenix Park was open to public traffic that morning. At least for traffic heading into town.

It seemed great at first - there was very little traffic going through the park that morning but then, I realised that I was being watched the whole way through the park by a couple of hundred pairs of gardai eyes decked in yellow hi-viz gear that lined both sides of Chesterfield Avenue. It wasn't a very pleasant feeling especially when ever so often as I passed by, a guard would start talking into his walkie-talkie thingy...

Check out the fat eejit on his moped looking like feckin' Darth Vader. Bwahahaha!

Should we stop him Seargent?

I didn't get stopped that morning or the morning after but still, I'd rather not have all that attention on me. Feelings of paranoia aside, other than an annoying issue with my Vespa cutting out at almost every other red light (need to sort this out ASAP), I managed to get to work on time without having to strip a single piece of clothing!

The journey home was a little bit different though.

It was actually bad even before it started. The AA's site was great at pointing out that ALL bridges across the Liffey would be closed to traffic but wasn't helpful in coming up with a solution. I came to the conclusion that since my Vespa couldn't fly or had the ability to float on water, I'd just go with the flow and hope for the best. The approach seemed to have worked fine until I reached Christ Church where traffic was at a standstill. A solitary guard blocked the slip road to Thomas Street and a quick glance opposite to where he was standing explained why he was alone.

His buddies in blue were a bit pre-occupied with a group of 50 or so break-away "protesters" who appeared determined to get to Dublin Castle so that their voices could be heard by the British monarch. Don't think that would achieve much but it all did seem like a bit of fun until gun shots were heard. Or, were they just those really loud firecrackers. Whatever it was, I wasn't curious enough to hang around and find out especially since solo guard was just given his orders to let traffic through the safer end.

I pointed my Vespa away as swarms of reporters and photographers ran in the opposite direction, towards the action. That wasn't the end of it though. I still had to escape from the traffic madness and get home. So, like on many occasions before, I let the rempit in me takeover and went all gemilang on Dublin traffic.


Still, between all the road closures, diversions, stuck lorries and mile-long queues of cars, I eventually managed to get home in about two hours. Thinking about it, that was just the rehearsal. Next week, Ireland welcomes Barack Obama.

Coffee Break

It must've been a couple of weeks ago when I had planned to meet up with my wife in the city centre. I remember having work to do at the office that weekend while she had a prior commitment with the kids and her friends. Thankfully, we had two modes of transportation one of which I preferred more than the other so, that arrangement was sorted out as soon as it was brought up.


Later that day, I headed over to Grafton Street where we had planned to meet up but my wife was delayed. It wasn't her fault. One of her friends had delayed her. I just don't understand people who aren't punctual. No, actually I hate people who aren't punctual. It not only proves that a person is incapable of keeping their promises but also shows a deep lack of respect to the other person.


The good thing is, the delay allowed me to take it easy and get away from the hustle and bustle of Grafton Street. Leaving the Vespa parked near the Dublin Tourism office on Suffolk Street, I walked towards Dawson Street with either Hodges Figgis or Waterstones as my destination. Waterstones unfortunately, is now closed. It's quite sad when a book store closes down but it's even sadder when the stores are closed and then replaced by yet another mindless "fashion" retail outlet. A real insult. I remember when Borders closed down in Blanchardstown's West End, it actually felt like all form of intelligence around the area went away with it as well. With Trinity College close by, the same shouldn't happen to the area I was visiting but, you never know...

A nice, relaxing mug of Caramel Macchiato later, the mobile rang. My wife was already in the city centre with three kids asleep in the car that needed to be moved, one way or another.There was no way she was going to be able to do it by herself. It was time I left my little quiet spot and headed back out into the big, bad world. 


If only all delays could end up this way.

Visor Down

For some odd reason, thing just tend to happen to me on Fridays. Maybe its because its the end of the working week here and I tend to go a bit off those days, delighted in the fact that I get to lay in bed for an extra hour or so during the weekend. Or, maybe my luck just runs out on Friday.


Anyway, there I was rushing back home on another Friday. Normally, I'd like to go on chillax mode and not hurry it home but grey clouds were starting to gather that afternoon and along with the clouds came gusts of wind that could take a person off their feet in an instant. OK, maybe not fat old me here but it definitely did that to my other half not too long ago.


All of a sudden, I could hear something that sounded like glass being smashed into pieces. And then, something came flying towards me. A shard of glass I thought, if what I had just heard a split-second ago was correct. Not wanting to end up like Felipe Massa, I sort of half-swerved and half-ducked but the object still hit me. Thankfully, I was wearing my full-face helmet and had my visor down that afternoon so, all the Unidentified Flying Object left behind were deep scratches on my visor, just above my right eye.


Phewww...that was a lucky escape. Initially, I thought it was something like a glass bottle that some drunken idiot had left on a nearby footpath but Monday came along and I was proved completely wrong. Something was not right that morning. The headlamp's light was shining just a bit too brightly and when I finally arrived at work, my suspicions were confirmed. That bottle of Smirnoff was actually my Vespa's headlamp glass which was now completely missing. Gone.

Whatever it is that caused it to break into a thousand tiny pieces, I don't think I'd be able to figure out anytime soon but after getting over the frustration, I decided that this was a good chance to get the Vespa a long-needed upgrade. The older versions of the PX have decent enough lighting but as the days get shorter, I'd be doing most of my commuting in the dark and in the pitch black darkness of winter, the headlamp's only as good as a candle in a darken room. Not good enough when roads are slippery and car drivers' attention might be lacking.


So, after a short call to confirm prices (reasonable for a change), I popped over to a local dealer and within half an hour was out of the shop with my new PX Disc halogen headlamp. Bright, bright lights even in midday.

Obviously, I'd be straying away from my Vespa's original look but I'd rather go with safety rather than authenticity on this one. Now, all I need now is some protection for my all-new headlamp from any debris on the road, especially since central Dublin might end up like one humongous construction site over the next few years. 

Helmet Lining Cleaning

I’ve had my helmet for at least 3 years now. Within that time I admit, I’ve never properly cleaned the thing. Of course, I’ve cleaned the visor and run some wipes across the outer shell as well as the inside but, I’ve never actually properly cleaned the lining. To be honest, the thing just pops on to my head almost every morning without question.

It just constantly does its job and you wouldn’t even take heed of it until something goes wrong. Well, in this case nothing actually went wrong. I just decided to take a proper look at the helmet’s lining.

To my horror (OK not really, but close), I now realised that the helmet’s lining should carry a biohazard warning in its current state. The forehead area looked like it had a layer of kitchen grease permanently stuck to it while the rest of the lining had a potent mixture of hair, sweat, dead skin, dead bugs, pieces of tuna (don't ask me how it got there) and some blood. There’s probably other stuff there as well but we’ll just keep it at that.

Having never heard of anyone washing their helmet lining, I decided to do some research (read: typed in a few words/phrases into Google) on the matter. After a while, I came to the conclusion that this just doesn’t happen. One would definitely be able to wash the Roof Boxer V’s lining - I just couldn’t find any guidance on actually washing it or for that matter, washing any other helmet’s lining. Even Roof’s site was silent on the topic.

As I was too lazy to pop over to the shop where I got the helmet (and get some expert advice), I fiddled with the lining myself. I pulled at every loose end and clip to see if anything would happen. Finally, I managed to get the lining out with minimal damage – some bits of foam from the lining decided to stay put and were left stuck on the helmet.

Undo the clips at the front of the helmet. This is the main thing that holds the lining in place. Undo button-type studs (at the back of the helmet). Be careful not to pull too hard on these as the stud section that’s stuck to the helmet might break away from the helmet itself.

Once un-attached from the helmet, the lining can be easily washed. I was tempted to just throw it into the washing machine but as the plastic piece (that clips on to the helmet) was attached to the lining, I decided to hand wash the thing instead. Plus, some elbow grease would be needed to scrub all the stuff that’s stuck on to the lining over the past few years anyway. I soaked the lining in some liquid detergent for a couple of hours and worked away at cleaning it.

After a good rinse with cold water, I was tempted once again to employ technology and throw the lining into the dryer but common sense prevailed (thought the foam might shrink) and air dried the lining instead. After its day in the sun, the lining was good to go and was stuck back on to the helmet. Lavender fresh and all.