Narrative

Frank Lynam

I’m currently living in Dublin on the banks of the River Liffey. When I wake in the morning I can see the deer in the Phoenix Park. OK, that’s a bit of lie but if I stood on a stepladder it might be a possibility. It’s good to be back breathing the Joycean air. There’s something about Dublin. There’s a sense there that all Dubliners understand but would find it difficult to put into words. It’s that feeling that we all get when we are out along by the sea at Sandymount or when you pass by St James’s Brewery or catch a glimpse of Boland’s Mill. We all complain about the place – the general mess left behind by the revelries of Saturday night, the junkies on the boardwalk, the inept politicians – and we talk endlessly about leaving. But when it comes down to it, it’s not a bad place.

Back in my previous life I used to work in the ICT industry. This all ended about 7 years ago when I decided that a changing of the guard was called for. I left the professional life and started out at the bottom again, as a first year student in Trinity College Dublin studying Italian and Ancient History and Archaeology.

Fast-forward to the present and I’m still on that academic path. In the meantime, I’ve finished my BA, majoring in all things archaeological, gone on quite a few excavations, encountered some appalling digital practice along the way and some not so bad, spent a year among the Dons of Cambridge and generally had numerous life-altering experiences.

My current place of work is within the wonderfully appointed surroundings of the Long Room Hub. They allow me access every morning because I’m one of a new breed of digital humanities and arts PhD students enrolled in the DAH programme. Days are generally spent considering what soya milk means in the post-digital landscape and other such pressing matters.