Dublin will be a great city, once they finish it.

As it stands now, there is more construction going on than at any other time in the city's long history, which began when the Vikings drained a tidal basin next to the River Liffey and called it Dublinia.  That's what the failed comedian who was forced to take up a career as a bus tour guide just told us, anyway.  He also told us the dates all this happened but, as I'm not expecting a pop quiz when this is over, I didn't pay attention.

The weather today, just like yesterday, is absolutely grand. It's mild and sunny and not at all like Ireland is supposed to be.  Still, the tour comic is trying to get as much mileage out of his 'Rainy Ireland' jokes as he can manage. 

"It's nice today," he tells us, "but last week it rained twice; once for three day, then again for four." 

I don't think there is any danger of anyone falling off the bus in a fit of laughter. 

We were up early this morning and, after a good Irish breakfast (this seems to be the only place where they voluntarily serve blood pudding) we set off in search of tourist-type adventure.  The streets were already rumbling with lorries and cars kicking up grit as we walked past the now-familiar field of granite and Avril posters.  This time, we went all the way to O'Connell Street to catch the first tour of the day and ended up right next to the most amazing sight I have ever seen (well, close, anyway). 

Informally know as The Dublin Spire, it is still without an official name.  Locally it is referred to as the 'Spire in the Mire,' the 'Pole in the Hole' or the 'Rod up to God,' and it appears to be the world's tallest flagpole, minus the flag.  Our assigned comic gleefully recited these rhymes to us, along with all the vital statistics such as cost, height and weight.  Once again, without the threat of a quiz I didn't bother to memorize them.  Rest assured, they are all big numbers. 

The guy who designed it had entered and (I presume) won some kind of contest for a structure to define Dublin--sort of a Celtic Big Ben.  I have to say, it seems to have accomplished its purpose; it is distinctive, memorable and has the added advantage of being difficult to fly and airplane into. 

In addition to the citywide, record-breaking construction, Dublin also has more people than ever these days and, Bob Hopeful of the tour bus tells us, a high percentage of them (41 seems to come to mind) are under the age of 25.  The majority of them also seem to be driving on the street ahead of us.  I say driving only because they are all sitting in their cars with the motors running, which leads me to believe they intend to go somewhere. 

This open-topped bus is a nice vantage point but it is not, as one might assume, a good place for photo-ops.  So I simply sit back to enjoy the view as the bus lurches sporadically along and the guide tells jokes and amusing anecdotes about the buildings and occasional statues. 

"And there's Molly Malone," he informs us, as we pass behind the famous statue of Molly Malone.  "I don't want to talk behind her back, but she's also know as the 'Tart with the Cart,' the 'Dolly with the Trolley' and the 'Trollop with the Scallops.'"  

His monologue is interspersed with long periods of silence as the bus sits idling in the traffic queue.  Obviously, they need to speed up traffic or he needs to pad out his tour patter.  He does, however, manage to paint a vivid image of Georgian Dublin and the personal hygiene habits of the day, making you wonder what sitting in a crowded coach in downtown Dublin must have smelled like on a hot August afternoon in 1780 and semi-grateful that the only smell making your head swim at the moment is car exhaust. 

Truth be told, Dublin is not a city of spectacular sights.  First of all, there is construction everywhere, and the buildings that are not works in progress or undergoing renovation are not examples of stunning medieval architecture.  It is, on the other hand, a city with some lovely parks so, after we complete the circuit and the joke loop starts over, we decide to take our chances on the ground.