That's life in the city

We've moved back into town. Hurray. I've just spent six months in the suburbs while our house was being done up and I now realise I am truly a townie. I missed the dirt and the smog and the noise. I missed my bicycle, Wagamama, expensive lattes, queuing, and the anonymity (because Dublin is so huge). I missed St. Pat's bells, the smell of the hops, feeding the ducks (something I keep meaning to do), brunch in Odessa, coffee in Bewleys (woops). I missed an auld pint in an auld pub. I missed the rudeness, the smackheads and having to chain my car up at night. And I missed the choice.

All those great cheap and cheerfuls that have sprung up in the last few years, like Gruel on Dame Street and – well, I can't think of the other ones right now.

But somehow I've changed, I don't fit in anymore. I've spent too long on the outskirts. I need a whole new wardrobe. I'd forgotten that you have to look smart when you're a townie. The floppy suburban look will have to go. You couldn't be seen walking down Grafton Street in runners and a velour tracksuit, you'd be shot. A smart jacket and polished shoes and maybe some sort of a colourful cravate in the handbag in case you end up trying to get in to Lillies Bordello later.

My husband's in heaven. He can wear his purple trilby without people calling him a weirdo. You walk quicker too. There's no dawdling in the city centre, no way. There are a lot of people with a lot of places to be in a very short space of time.

We went for a stroll into Temple Bar last Sunday and we ended up running. Tricky with the pram on those cobbeldy stones, let me tell you. But I love it, I feel like I'm just back from my holidays. I can't wait to go to the pictures and not have to choose between Pretty Woman and Rocky 2.

When I need a chemist at one in the morning I can find one. I'm sick of fresh air and walks by the beach and chats on the street. I don't care that I don't have a garden or four bedrooms or a dog; that I have to spend €65 on a haircut; that I can't walk home alone after midnight – I can go to a gig any night of the week.

I don't mind the clamping, the busking, the looney taxi drivers and I'm ten minutes walk from Burdocks.

I'm going to live longer too. People do in the city. I know a woman who died of lonliness. She lived in Mount Merrion. Live till you're 90 in the city if you're not stabbed first.

Make the move. You might not have any money to do anything else other than sit in your flat after you've paid your two-grand-a-week rent but it's worth it.

And it's great for kids, they don't need lawns and safe cul-de-sacs, they need adult conversations in bars by the time they're twelve. It'll be the making of them.

Ah yes – Dublin. My Dublin. I'm skint.