AS THE National Geographic Channel never ceases to point out, people were writing on walls well before walls were invented. Cro-Magnons, Aborigines, Egyptians and Republican Romans all felt the need to decorate their various chambers with pictures and prose, and while the jury remains out on the subject of graffiti as art, in the conveniences of Dublin s public hostelries, the writing remains well and truly on the wall.
Exactly what induces men to confide their innermost thoughts to posterity or piss territory, if you will evades me, but it is a common practice. Analysis reveals that five main subject areas predominate: Tagging, Philosophy, Sport, Sex and Genitalia, Politics and Religion.
Tagging is the basic inscription of a name, usually accompanied by a date of inscription, uninteresting to all but the author. These are the types of people who ring radio stations, and are best ignored. An exception is the addition of the words Is a rat after the name, as this spells disapproval by others of the subject s public-spirited attempts to aid the crime prevention authorities. In this category also are music fans or indeed even musicians who write the names of their bands. Subscream, 9999 and Velcro Warriors are all bands whose names appear on a wall in Eamonn Doran s, but courtesy of a Stabilo marker, alas, and not an A2 poster.
Those graffitos of a more philosophical bent seem negatively Hegelian in their views if the toilets in Hogan s are anything to go by. It s time to be an Android opines one joker, while the writer of I Don t Believe In Nothing, Let The World Burn Down Baby , is not the first person I d invite to a party. The arty crowd who drink in Grogan s are a little more thoughtful. It All Comes Out The Same Whether You Make It Hard Or Not presumably reflects the writer s views on life in general though maybe I m missing something. A certain fast-food restaurant on O Connell Street has I Hate This Jobe written in tiny letters in a WC, but I don t hold out much hope of a clerical positione.
If the walls are an indicator of public preoccupation, those with no interest in sport are missing out on a huge life experience. Blue marker is the colour and football is the game. One could be forgiven for thinking that Irish soccer does not exist. Apart from one team seemingly entitled Bohscum , English teams predominate. Manchester United FC are probably not as universally popular as Hot Press sports pundit Jonathan O Brien has led me to believe.
Now the juicy ones. While my colleague Ms Reid informs me that women s cubicles do not regularly feature graphic illustrations of ladies fascinating bits, men are much more experimental. Badly drawn genitalia (or perhaps I need surgery, and enlargement), are ever-present, with female breasts highly popular, followed by penal studies, (no, not The Ballad Of Reading Gaol . . .). Vaginal impressions are less popular, and less detailed. Could it be that many of our artists have never seen one?
A lot of this stuff is ridiculously mysogynist does anybody really believe that All Women Are Slags ? A joke which finishes with the punchline, A Block Of Flaps is so disgusting that I can t reprint it here, but check Hogan s if you must. A rather charming musing in Dublin s George Bar has the author informing us that When I m With Him It Kills Me, When I m Not, I m Dying. Aaah!
Recent polls have indicated that the vast majority of Irish youth have no interest in politics, but the state of the nation s loos would seem to contradict this. Armchair republicanism is rife: evidently these people have yet to decommission their biros. The CIRA are heavily represented in this category, and surprisingly the UVF and UFF also appear to have their fans south of the border. In one toilet in Temple Bar someone has inscribed the famous epitaph, Ireland unfree will never be at peace , but the guy who has added the words Unless We Try should be given a peace prize.
The answers are probably not blowin in the wind, but maybe the prophets are still writing on the subway walls. Go see for yourself.