If you ever wanted to know what the early eighties was like in Dublin this song by Paul Clery of the Blades covers all the bases perfectly.
Downmarket
In an unfamilar bed
In a unfamiliar room
There’s a throbbing in my head
I’ve succeeded I presume
Everything’s black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
I suppose I can’t be choosy, when there’s not too many choices
With the problems of the nation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bustop, Downmarket, Downmarket
On a rainy afternoon
On a gambling machine
Same old jukebox, same old tune
It’s hard to break and old routine
Everything’s black and white and grey
Living from day to day to day
I suppose I can’t be choosy, when there’s not too many choices
With the problems of the nation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bustop, Downmarket, Downmarket
It’s a fatal resignation
When there’s nothing left to hope for
In a hopless situation
I’m not waiting at an airport
I’m not waiting at a station
I’m standing at a bustop, Downmarket, Downmarket
Paul Clery
Copacetic 
Did we have a few jars last night Joe? 😉
Clery wasn’t just a great lyrcist, he wrote a damn fine tune too. I couldn’t find Downmarket on line, but folks who don’t know The Blades could check out this
And I stumbled across this too, which I recall seeing in the Times when it was first published.
And most important of all, buy it here.
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The Blades were class and Paul never got the credit he deserved.
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