In Dublin for just two days last week and among the modern buildings and re-development was a phenomena which I thought had all but dissappeared. The city centre garage. High rates and property prices have driven away many lock-ups and 'maintenance' sheds that were once a feature of railway arches and the less than salubrious parts of our cities. But here in a side road not far from Pearce Street is one such place. Gleaming at the back is a Fiat 500 surrounded by the detritus of the motor trade. The shot is not brilliant because as I was busy 'Litchfielding', a surly son of Erin arrived back after a test drive and I beat a hasty retreat lest I should feel the power of his mighty knuckles which definitely looked on the cards. I remember working late into the night in such dens trying to coax old bangers back to life or through a final MOT. There's something about the heady aroma of oil, petrol and residual carbon monoxide all bathed in stark neon lighting, that makes me think '"I'm glad I haven't got that corroded Ford Anglia anymore".
