THE SUMMER months in Dublin can be a pretty depressing place. Everything is different. All the boggers have gone home for the holidays to cut peat on the family farm, the stressed-out suits who are usually seen rushing around college green have been replaced by angry-looking and purposeless emo kids, and even the skinny-jeaned arts student (who most of us wouldn’t usually admit to missing) has made way for a swarm of Japanese and Spanish tourists. There are no twisted Tuesdays in Citibar or Wankered Wednesdays in somebody’s dingy apartment to take the edge off working the nine to five in your local Tesco either.