The story was much bigger than anyone thought, sort of feeling. That everything you were seeing and hearing was only a front for something that was really going on that was being kept from you.

It created a feeling, a suspicion, that although we may all be equal, some will always be more equal than others.

This is

obscene, the Dublin scandal. Episode 1, man in a dicky bow.

The

For many of us, the early 80s was a fun time. It was about big hair, shoulder pads. Greed was good. Snarling punk anarchy had been replaced by a pop culture of colorful new romantics. In the US and the UK, Reagan and Thatcher were at the helm and capitalism was king. Ireland, on the other hand, well, it was a bit of a mess. An economy on its knees and a government that appeared to be constantly on the brink of collapse. Smoke-filled job centers with queues at the door, everyone seemed to be wearing brown or grey. Homosexuality would remain illegal until 1993, and if you were young, free and single, and you had any sense, you were out of there. Taking the boat or playing to America or England. Oh, and one more thing, it was cold. Very cold.

This time we're talking about it, you know, 1981, 82, 83. You did not have heating in your house.

Today, Colin Tobin is one of Ireland's most loved novelists, but back in 1982, he was shivering along with everyone else, trying to make a living as a freelance journalist, and always on the lookout for a place to warm up.

And, well, a lot of people who were, I suppose, rich had oil-fired central heating. That was still unusual. And a lot of houses simply had a fire lighting in the winter in one room, I mean, a fire, just cold fire. Now, if you were a student or if you were a bohemian or if you were a young journalist or if you were just not someone rich, the evenings were a disaster because it was so cold that you could either go to bed or sit right up against the fire and get chill-blains or something. But going out was a great chance of getting warm. The pubs had a particular level of despair when it came up to closing time. It was not just that you couldn't drink anymore, but that you were going to have to go into a freezing flat.

The view of Toblin from outside the capital didn't exactly reflect the reality.

People, ordinary people all over the country had the most astonishing views of what was really going on in Dublin. Who was having sex with who and who was seeing who and how corrupt it all was.

What they needed to confirm this idea of Dublin as a dark metropolis was a scandal. And, unfortunately, they were about to get one. That winter of 82 was one of the coldest on record. The big snow had brought the country to a standstill with food shortages and power cuts. And it was followed by one of the wetter springs. So when summer finally arrived, it came as a great relief to a nation desperately in need of some warmth. Thursday the 22nd of July would prove to be one of the hottest days of the year, which meant for most Dublin residents, there was only one place to be.

The Phoenix Park was very important to people working in the city. And when I worked in Temple Street Hospital earlier, particularly when I was broke, I take the bus to the Phoenix Park to walk around and hang out and lie out and read a book.

That's Alice Conroy. Today she lives in the west of Ireland, but back then Alice was training to be a nurse in Dublin.

We would take a bus to the Phoenix Park or hitchhym and find a spot and kill some time there before we were back in duties. A lot of people used the Phoenix Park. It was very large, it was very beautiful, it was very calming. And you could find your own spot.

The Phoenix Park lies right in the heart of the city. With over 17,000 acres of parkland, you can see herds of deer roaming freely. The president of Ireland has their residence there and across the road lies the grand home of the US ambassador. Three years earlier, Pope John II even dropped by. He celebrated mass for a crowd of one and a quarter million Irish Catholics. That's about a third of the total population, waving their papal flags and clutching their flasks of tea and ham sandwiches.