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About Swords

So, I’m thinkin’, right, finding a prossie ain’t hard if you’ve got coin. Flash some gold, and they swarm like flies on shit. But here’s the kicker—did you know, back in medieval times, some brothels had secret codes? Like, a red ribbon on the door meant “open for business.” Sneaky, huh? I’d burn the place down just to watch ‘em scatter—violence is my love language, after all.

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I love here mostly ’cause it’s alive. There's Eircom Park, a wild green sprawl. I’ve spent afternoons there qibbling with friends, draped in sunlight and squabbles. It’s a perfect place for heartfelt chats under whisperin’ trees. Even the river Liffey, viewable in bits ’round the basin, hums tales. Misty truths dance in its ripples, and me thinks, “Aye, this too be magic… or madness?”—how I often joke, slurred like me rum tales.

Former Stardust site now host to Artane art studios as part of refurbishment programme