These things are not always easy to understand; but as far as I can make out, the Luas line (estimated date of completion, 2995) when it reaches Amiens Street station will enter the railway equivalent of a cul-de-sac, rather than form a loop, as all other light railway systems do, writes Kevin Myers.
So in order to leave the station, the driver will have to hop out of engine and hare up the platform and get into a second locomotive at the rear of the train, and then drive off in the opposite direction.
The corollary of this, of course, is that an entirely unnecessary engine is then hauled all around Dublin until the tram-train reaches Amiens Street station again: and then it's time for the drivers to show their athletic skills again in getting from one end to the other.
All right, it's more than possible I've misunderstood the recent Railway Procurement Agency disclosures. Possibly there is some other way of getting the tram-train out of the Amiens Street cul-de-sac. Maybe large numbers of sturdy asylum-seekers will be employed to carry the engine along the platform, or perhaps there'll be a large crane to hoist the front bit into the sky, turn it around, and drop it at the back.
The problem is, it's very easy to believe that the RPA wants its Luas drivers to double as sprinters, and no doubt subject themselves to regular tests for steroids. Because it seems to inhabit a world where rules of common sense behave as if they're under the influence of another banned substance, namely LSD, the year is 1970, and we're all lying on the grass at Woodstock.
In this world of railway hallucinogenics, it's only too easy to believe that that tram-trains should have two engines. Or blimey, even four. Look at what else the RPA has done. It bought and stored the Luas engines years before they could be used, and best of all, it has triumphantly intermeshed Luas with the most complex traffic junction in the world, the Red Cow Roundabout.
Next, I fully expect the Red Cow to take over from where Mr Justice Flood is leaving off, and conduct the inquiry into planning corruption. This is such a talented roundabout that it could also effortlessly handle the Moriarty Tribunal as well, and probably the Donegal Garda inquiry also. So it clearly makes sense for the RPA to make the entire rapid transit system of the capital dependent on the Red Cow Roundabout at one end, and Carl Luas at the other.
This being the case - hey, don't bogard that joint, my friend - I have no difficulty accepting the Spanish claim that they would build the airport metro for about one hundredth of the figure set by the RPA. After all, in a single twinkle of an RPA eye, the agency lopped €1.4 billion off its proposed estimate of €4.8 billion. Blink again, and the price is down to €1 billion. Blink once more, and it's Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds time, and hey man, did I smoke that entire joint all alone? Must have done, because we now know that the new metro will have no direct link with either the DART or any of the mainline stations. It will, however, link with the Botanic Gardens, where both passengers can get out, put some flowers in their hair, and think peaceful thoughts. Far out. And while we're lying there, the RPA can gently break the news to us that it's taking us to the airport via the Red Cow Roundabout. And it'll only take two days.
What joy.
What happens at RPA meetings? "Sorry I'm late," apologises a flustered board member. "My rasher wouldn't cook. Put it on the grill, five minutes each side, but it was still raw."
"Did you turn on the gas?"
"No. The instructions didn't say anything about that. Just said, put it under the grill for five minutes each side. So in the end, I had no breakfast."
"Something similar happened to me. Cracked the egg on the pan. Just stayed there, not cooking. So I've brought a jam sandwich, hope you don't mind. Only thing is, the jam and the butter have spread all over the inside of my pocket. Wish there was a way of preventing that."
"There is actually. Got it from Ballymaloe. After you've spread the butter and jam on the slices of bread, you put the two buttery, jammy sides together, facing in, not facing out, so only the dry bread is on the outside. Ingenious, eh?"
A board member slaps the table in amazement. "Good God, that's fiendishly clever. Do you know how many suits I've ruined not knowing that? Who invented that technique? The Chinese? The French?"
"Another thing. You'll find you get a far crisper shirt if you plug your iron in."
"Plug your iron in? Plug, as in blocking the hole in the bath? Sorry, old fellow, you're barking up the wrong tree there. I'd never fit my iron in that hole."
"No, no, you don't plug it into the bath, but into the electricity mains.
"It gets amazingly hot."
His colleague thought for a while. "You know, I could put the iron in my bath not to keep the water in but to keep it nice and warm, couldn't I?"
"Brilliant!" comes the reply. "But you know, you'd have to keep the iron plugged in."
"Of course, I know that. What do you think I am? Stupid or something?"