Julie Jay: Dublin's traffic comes as a shock to this West Coast hipster

Despite getting a lot of flak, the capital city is a great spot for an afternoon filled with Lego mosh-pits, fake martinis and untouched lunches

Julie Jay: "In Dingle, the only traffic I encounter is the number of people ahead of me in the queue for my daily chai latte, so the car congestion coming out of Dublin at 5pm was something no west coast hipster could have possibly foreseen."

A couple of weeks ago, we spent the day in Dublin, and it was only as Number One hesitated at the top of the escalator stairs I realised it was, in fact, the very first time we had all been in the capital city, all four of us.

I love a bit of Dublin, particularly this time of year. The colours! The scarf fashion! The free chocolates that come with your extortionately priced flat white! It’s enough to make me want to dip into my secret hedge fund and splash out €1.25m on a one-bedroom artisan cottage somewhere within the Pale. 

Our day in the big smoke was giving me all the feels for our capital city, a place I feel gets much flak and not enough credit.  After all, where else in the country can you look up at buildings over two storeys tall and marvel at the Luas, the most glacial-paced light rail service in the world? 

The reason we were in Dublin was because the husband and I had a work thing, which embarrassingly enough consisted of somebody - perish the thought - taking pictures of us.

The day before, the organisers had ever so kindly suggested that if we were stuck for childcare, we could bring the kids along to the photoshoot, and much to what was probably their horror, that is exactly what we did.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t attempted to sort an alternative childcare plan, but when it was proving tricky, the wonderful organiser had kindly messaged, ‘Don’t worry, please bring them. We’re all mammies and people do it all the time.’

Upon receipt of this message, I almost got choked up with emotion at the sheer kindness of the text, but also how much easier all work events would be if a similar attitude were taken. I know it can’t always work, but if kids can be incorporated at all, it immediately takes the stress off parents trying to make the jigsaw pieces fit.

The photoshoot went relatively smoothly, bar Number Two going semi-feral in a cocktail bar, and I couldn’t thank the team enough for keeping the boys entertained. At the same time, Mammy and Daddy pretended to be out on the town next to a martini glass of orange juice.

With work done and dusted, the four of us visited the Lego shop, which was absolutely choc-a-bloc; so much so, I’m sure even an A&E nurse surveying the scene would have marvelled at how the staff there were surviving at all.

We purchased a tub of Lego for each child because I have learned, at this point in my life, we haven’t yet fully mastered the art of sharing without somebody losing their rag - usually me.

Finally, we rounded off our day with a trip to Milanos, a small, family-owned restaurant in the heart of Dublin. Because he is such a country mouse, Number One is still not a complete convert to pizza - a fact which sometimes has me wondering if there was some kind of catastrophic mix-up in Tralee General all those moons ago. Despite Number One’s apathetic stance on Italy’s most famous export, we reasoned that whatever Number One doesn’t eat, Number Two will hoover up. 

Unfortunately, by the time we reached the Dawson’s Street location, Number Two had fallen asleep. This could only mean one thing - we would be leaving a lot of food untouched. 

As a child of the '80s, the thought of an uncleared plate is my biggest fear - up there with an unexpected Revenue investigation into my personal finances and reading my own YouTube comments.

We scoffed our dinners quicker than you can say ‘don’t use cutlery, it will wake the baby’ and by the time we made it back to the car,  the air was crisp, like a perfectly cooked pizza crust, and the kids were more than ready to bid Dublin a fond farewell.

I was stunned by how long it took us to get home. In Dingle, the only traffic I encounter is the number of people ahead of me in the queue for my daily chai latte, so the car congestion coming out of Dublin at 5pm was something no west coast hipster could have possibly foreseen.

As we passed the turn off for the M50, my little guy spotted a red and white flag on the car in the next lane.

‘Mammy, look, he’s from Dingle!’ He exclaimed, delighted. Turns out, you can take the country mouse out of the country, but you can never take the country out of the country mice. The fact that this was, in fact, a Cork flag is something my country mouse doesn’t need to know, because the sentiment stands. Dingle is for life, Dublin is for Lego.