Behind Bullock Harbour

Bullock Harbour can seem cosy, almost quaint. But everything alters when you step through the doorway behind 'The Crow's Nest' tackle shop, into a narrow gap in the huge granite rocks (always somehow anthropomorphic, like humped, sleeping dinosaurs).

Here is what's left of the land's jaggy edge, a little outcrop they didn't develop. It should be pretty, even beautiful: the slosh and slurp of waves slapping on rock shelves and reaching into cavities, the path winding between grassy patches offering seats or perfect picnic spots, the rock-framed views of Howth Head or the horizon...

But there is rubbish: abandoned nests of beer cans, shoes, plastic cups, spilt paint, squalor. The tagging on the rocks seems cheerful by comparison.

Still, the place attracts me. And I can see why it attracts the (presumably) kids who burn trash and leave their marks everywhere like feral tom cats. It is a natural secret zone, a place for initiates, drug and booze parties, wild sex, summonings... a harbour within a harbour.