Fake chivalry, armpit hell and a death wish

As the Luas slowly takes over the city, Donal Lynch braved fumes, sweat and tears for a day on the Daniel Day

Donal Lynch pictured with the Luas

Donal Lynch

When the Luas was first introduced to Dublin I felt sure it would be the sticky end of me. Its stealthy, almost-silent glide through the city seemed destined to interrupt my zoned-out phone-addled strolling with a quick and easy death. I wasn't massively worried by this. It wouldn't be a bad way to go, all told, and certainly vastly preferable to spending more years rotting at bus stops. Optimistically, I turned up my headphones and readied myself for glorious martyrdom to the Daniel Day. Maybe they'd even give me a plaque.

But as the years passed, I realised that rather than quickly and humanely putting me out of my misery, the Luas would instead turn out to be death by a thousand fetid armpits. It starts at rush hour as you hurl yourself into the gap where the door has opened and hope that you fit into the narrow, sweaty space which is a million miles away from those "artist's visions" of 15 years ago.