An Irishman's Diary

I MET my first “Dublin Street Ambassador” the other day. Unfortunately, I wasn’t lost at the time, or even in need of a recommendation for a place to have lunch. On the contrary, we met on South Great George’s Street, near the corner of Fade Street, an area I know intimately. So I just wished him well in his important work and left him to it.

The location was apt, I thought, as I turned the corner. Street ambassadors – seven of which have been deployed by the Dublin business community following a similar scheme in Limerick – are not accredited to particular addresses, of course. But it struck me again that if ever a place needed diplomatic representation, it was Fade Street.

Wherever (or whoever) the name came from, an address meaning to “gradually disappear”, “dwindle”, or “die out”, is a big public relations challenge for local traders. Not that rebranding it at the opposite end of the spectrum would be a good idea either. “Loom Street”, “Materialise Street”, or “Appear-out-of- Nowhere Street” are hardly viable options.

There are several thriving businesses in Fade Street, it must be said, including a couple of fashionable bars and a very good French restaurant. On the other hand, I note that its cult music shop, Road Records, announced imminent closure recently, citing shortage of “footfall” (and the collapse of the record industry) among other problems. And although a campaign to save it is now gathering momentum, the news was a poignant reminder for me of another business on the street that went under.

It appeared in the very depths of the last recession, if my memory serves, and it was called Del Monaco. A small Italian trattoria, both its food and prices were suitably modest for those straitened times. But in keeping with the address, it seemed to be fading from the start. Maybe this was why the manager, a large Italian man, always looked so sad; or maybe I was just projecting my own fears for the restaurant on to him.

Certainly, I became emotionally involved in the project. I had lunch there as regularly as I could; and developed the habit of counting the other customers, for which the fingers of both hands were rarely needed. Finally, I resorted to the ultimate extravagance, bringing my then girlfriend there for dinner one night, the memory of which still haunts me. Maybe footfall was particularly low that evening. In any case, we were the first people to arrive, and the last to leave. In between, one other couple came in, had a brisk main course, and left. More potential diners stopped outside occasionally, perhaps studying the menu, or glancing in the window, before ignoring my silent entreaties and going elsewhere: the uncaring bastards.

Finally the proprietor, looking sadder than ever, went around all the tables and extinguished the candles we had watched him light earlier. Having lingered as long as was decent, we followed the candlelight out. And as they say in theatrical circles, the café went dark – permanently – soon afterwards.

I wish Road Records well in its survival campaign. There’s a benefit night in Andrews Lane Theatre next month as part of the effort. And should its supporters succeed in averting closure, maybe their next step will be the appointment, if not of a full-time ambassador for Fade Street, then at least of an honorary consul.

Failing that, they could always hire one of those special envoys – sandwich-board carriers – to walk up and down George’s Street and the other major thoroughfares nearby, advertising the attractive investment opportunities available in out-of-the-way places.

THE wider environs of Fade Street are an area that, some time ago, Lonely Planet attempted to name “SoDa”. This came from the same school as New York’s SoHo, so-called for being immediately (So)uth of (Ho)uston Street. The part of Dublin immediately (So)uth of (Da)me Street has a similarly funky mixture of restaurants, boutiques, and what remains in the city of small shops with personality, such as Road Records or Charlie Byrne’s Musik Independente.

On the other hand, it also boasts several larger institutions, including the Gaiety, the Chester Beatty Library and, of course, Dublin Castle: home to the city's longest-running theatrical production – Dublin's answer to The Mousetrap– the Mahon tribunal. A catchy name would help unify all these disparate attractions into a single identity; hence LP's suggestion.

Sadly, SoDa does not seem to have taken off; maybe because, like Fade Street, it doesn’t sound vibrant enough for a funky urban area. Yes, soda water is synonymous with fizz and sparkle. But “soda” still evokes bread, mainly – which, important as it is, is hardly funky. Also, SoDa sounds too much like the intro to a conversation with your father – “So Da, tell me again about how you had to go to school in bare feet” – to be an edgy urban quarter.

That’s why, bearing in mind that the area’s southern extremity is probably the aforementioned Gaiety, I have an alternative suggestion, in keeping with the times.

Following the trend set by Aviva Stadium, and as part of the scheme I announced recently for flogging the exclusive naming rights of everything from the GPO to the Cliffs of Moher, I suggest the area’s residents and business people should seek a sponsor. Having one of Dublin’s largest concentrations of mobile phone users, the (No)rth of (Ki)ng Street (A)area would surely appeal to a well-known Finnish telephone manufacturer. It might not be worth €40 million, but it would pay for a few ambassadors.