If you live in Dublin, you might have noticed that the unrest on the streets is palpable. I’m not going to go into details on the gripes Joe Public has with the establishment, you get plenty of that on the news every single day. When I say there is unrest on the streets, I mean quite literally on the streets. You won’t read about this in your Irish Independent. Why? These disenchanted people don’t have a voice. They don’t have a vote. Some of them don’t have pants, but that’s beside the point. The homeless are unhappy and it’s time you noticed.

It’s a wet, grey morning in April; this is a normal run-of the-mill street in Dublin, Ireland. There’s a low, continuous humming sound drifting through the air. A staler than stale cheesepiss smell bothers your nostrils; it seems to be coming from that rather majestic looking Jury’s Hotel. What’s going on, you wonder? You enter the hotel and query the small, pink faced man standing beside the entrance to the lift: the man who is looking at the shapely bottom of every woman that passes by. This man, he laughs and says “go round the back, if you want.” You go around the back of the building, past the skips and empty rain filled bottles and you find yourself in the middle of a gathering of Ireland’s fastest growing demographic, the homeless. [Read more...]