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not into this anymore. I’m not getting a buzz out
of it’.” By chance, he happened to walk past Ballymaloe Cookery School. Two weeks later he handed in his notice and enrolled in the school. He soon became a chef and went on to run Slice. “At first, it was a little daunting moving in beside Maureen here,” Ray says. “I remember when we opened first, you weren’t sure of this young buck coming in, were ya? But we got to know one another, which is the basis of any true love. What was the point when you said, ‘Jesus, I’m really fallin’ for this fella?’” “Never,” Maureen responds. Ray laughs but in don’t want to get engaged in the area at all. I even do a paper round in the morning and I’d say out of five people I meet, I’m lucky if two say good morning to me. “I think that’s the kind of contradiction with They say, ‘Oh God Maureen, I hope you’re not going to Maureen is quick to walk it back. “Ah no, we’ve always had fun and been there for one another. I let him come in and feel at home. And I told him if he ever needed anything then ask me. That was it.” “And we just have craic together,” says Ray. “I remember when I opened first, I’d get this phone call every single Saturday. It was this Irish diddly-eye music being played down the phone. Every single week! It got to the stage where I’d just answer the phone and hang up. And it wasn’t till 18 months later that I came in here and she was breaking her shite laughing, and she was like, ‘did you get that hug in the morning?’ Because the song was called Hug in the Morning. 18 fuckin’ months she requested it on the radio and rang me from the phone in here and didn’t say a word about it. That was the start of our banter.” Maureen likes to do what she can to help people in the area. She holds keys for the locals, accepts packages for residents and keeps a note of all the handymen working in the area. “If there’s anything I can do for people, I’ll do it,” she says. “But I find that young people coming sell your shop, we’d miss you.’ But you’re lucky if they buy a bar of chocolate off ya. young people,” Ray says. They talk about keeping everything local but they just don’t follow through with it.” “All the young people here, they finish their day’s work and they’re gone.” Maureen continues. “You’re lucky if you see them on a Sunday. You don’t know if they’re livin’ in the parish or not. And then out of the blue they come in and say ‘Oh God Maureen, I hope you’re not going to sell your shop, we’d miss you.’ But you’re lucky if they buy a bar of chocolate off ya.” Nothing is more emblematic of that than the bintags, something of a pet peeve for Maureen. “Now fair enough, you’re keeping somebody else in business, but even if you were to buy some milk or something else as well. They come in, buy the bintags and you ask if they would like anything else and they say ‘Not at the moment.’ You’re like ‘Oh… well keep walking.’” There’s great concern about the accelerated gentrification in Dublin City, something Stoneybatter finds itself at the center of. You’d think it would make Maureen anxious too, but more than anything she just seems frustrated that her shop is no longer a central part of the community. As she says herself, if Stoneybatter is going to get more outsiders, it would be nice if those people integrated more with the area. Even the dreaded bintags, at least, bring in more of the younger crowd. On a Monday night, Maureen’s Shop gets an energy that’s sometimes missing. That rubs off on Maureen herself. ➝ 48