I'm finding it quite difficult to write my magnum opus right now, firstly because I am struggling against a 9,000 word deficit, and secondly because I have a streaming cold. Thirdly, and perhaps most annoyingly, a blind-drunk man is sat on a bench directly outside my window, hurling abuse at everyone on the high street for the past four hours.
He's Irish, evidenced by him screaming at passers-by 'I'm Irish! IRA! Fuckin' Republican!' And now he's screaming 'Open yer legs! Do you wanna fuck?' at some hidden ladies, followed by a pause, then 'Fuckin' lesbians.'
This would be, very very very - broadly speaking - mildly amusing, if it wasn't for the fact that he's so drunk he can barely point an accusatory finger at cars without his whole body wobbling, and the beer I notice he's spilled from his lap and down the pavement into the gutter probably isn't beer. I say that because in the four hours he's been sat there drinking cans of super strength lager, it's only just occurred to me that he hasn't moved for a 'break'.
I wonder if Dublin's full of Englishmen doing likewise?