When conceived, in the heady late 1990s, the Millennium Spire was supposed to reflect the mood of a nation. Now, as we patiently await its completion, it might be a good time to consider whether the monument can succeed in this aim, writes Frank McNally
So taking advantage of a predicted "window of calm" before my deadline arrives, I propose to erect this column in three sections: discussing where we were as a people in 1999; where we've moved to since; and whether the distance between these two positions is something that should worry the project engineers.
Back when the Spire was designed, there was a lot of wild talk about us "reaching for the sky". This was always going to present practical difficulties, when push came to shove, notwithstanding the opinion of some commentators that, with our heads in the clouds, we were halfway to the sky already. But the plan was in keeping with the national mood at the time, which as we now know was one of deranged optimism.
Of course, the Spire had its critics even then. At the crucial Dublin City Council meeting - a meeting which, foreshadowing this week's difficulties for the project team, was particularly windy - one councillor suggested the plan was reminiscent of "Moscow in the 1960s".
But never mind Moscow - the precedents from Dublin in the 1960s were worrying enough. After all, the last national sky-reaching plan resulted in Liberty Hall. And while Liberty Hall has the saving grace that you can always climb its stairs and enjoy an unobstructed view of the city from inside, this is not an option that will be available with the Spire.
I also note from the archives that a member of the monument selection jury said the Spire would be "like a finely engineered compass needle, positioning the heart of the capital from air and sea". At a time when we were in danger of losing the run of ourselves completely, a compass seemed a good idea, right enough. The same source predicted the Spire would function like a sun-dial, "to mark the passing of the day, and of the seasons". But this was 1999, of course, and sunshine still seemed a possibility.
Unfortunately, in the years since the plan was approved, the country has experienced a major downturn. If the Government had been in charge of the Spire, it would probably have announced a 25 per cent cut in the planned altitude after the election.
But, at any rate, the national mood has changed utterly. As reflected in the latest social partnership talks, the sky is no longer a pressing objective for anyone, and the people instead seem likely to settle for a modest pay rise.
Of course, one mustn't be too downbeat about the current state of things. But to mention just a few recent developments: the LUAS has been delayed, CIÉ is on strike again, 2002 was the wettest year in history, Fossett's Circus faces closure, and rats are outnumbering humans in Dublin by nine to one. Even the city council itself was in crisis for a time this week and, like Fossett's Circus (humorous comparisons on a postcard, please), seemed in danger of going out of business altogether. No wonder the engineers have been struggling to erect its monument to optimism.
I note from his past interviews that the Spire's architect admitted finding it difficult to "read" Irish people. Apparently he wasn't talking about James Joyce or Roddy Doyle, but about his view that Ireland had "bypassed the industrial revolution and gone from agriculture to the electronic age in one leap".
Yet even this "reading," understandable at the time, is questionable now. Just as his monument was being thwarted by the weather this week, we were hearing that Ireland's plans to become a major electronic "hub" are falling well behind the competition; while the recent tractor protest proves that, shockingly and despite heroic attempts to eradicate it, agriculture continues to exist.
Meanwhile, the stalled work in O'Connell Street suggests we may not have missed out on the industrial revolution completely. Even as we await the sight of the finished 120-metre Spire, onlookers have been marvelling at the 140-metre crane - Ireland's largest. Supplied by McNally's of Monaghan (no relation, sadly), the crane has towered over O'Connell Street for weeks now, and there's a groundswell among Dubliners in favour of leaving it where it is, when the official monument is finally erected.
Anyway, to sum up, Ireland is a much changed place from the one in which the project was initiated. And I'd love to bring this column, like the Spire itself, to a pointed and illuminating conclusion about what it all means. Unfortunately, conditions are deteriorating (you're way past deadline - Ed), and on safety grounds, I've decided to suspend the operation indefinitely.