In a combination of Celtic and Christian symbolism, the mosaics in the cruciform reflecting pool at the Garden of Remembrance represent the ancient custom of destroying weapons and discarding them in a river after a battle.

The mosaics, pool and garden were designed in the 1940s by Daithí Hanly who also used mosaics on several buildings around the city during his time as City Architect. Opened in 1966 on the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising, the garden commemorates all those who died in the cause of Irish freedom over the centuries. The garden itself is something of a mosaic, with Oisín Kelly’s Children of Lir sculpture added in 1971, Liam Mac Uistín’s poem “We Saw a Vision” added in 1976, and a new entrance opened in 2007.

Hidden from the casual passer-by and largely forgotten by busy commuters, the Garden of Remembrance is almost always still and quiet, despite its city centre location; that said, it has been the centre of attention as the scene of important memorial services involving visiting heads of state in recent years.

Despite appearances, neither. Looking like a single-room Greek temple from the outside, the Casino (‘little house’ in Italian) in fact contains sixteen rooms over three levels. It was built in the eighteenth century by the 1st Earl of Charlemont soon after returning from his Grand Tour of Italy and Greece, having already named his newly acquired estate after the Italian town of Marino.

With hollow columns, hidden doors, mysterious tunnels, and windows that are bigger on the outside than the inside, there’s more to the Casino than meets the eye. Comparisons with a certain time-travelling craft are almost inevitable; had the Casino been endowed with such powers, its architect might have been able to see his design brought to fruition. But for Chambers, the Casino remained both small and far away.

The living may be easy, but telling the time isn’t. Summer began a couple of days ago, but the clocks changed to summer time just over a month ago. Except they didn’t: officially, we don’t have summer time. In 1968, Irish Standard Time was defined to be one hour ahead of GMT, and in 1971, winter time was defined to be the same as GMT. In practice, Irish time has mostly been the same as British time since the end of Summer Time in 1916 (the year it was introduced). Prior to that, the standard time across Ireland, as decreed in 1880, was Dublin Mean Time, which was 25 minutes and 21 seconds behind Greenwich Mean Time, with Dunsink Observatory as the reference point.

The clock on the North Range of the Royal Hospital is just over an hour slow, perhaps still showing winter time (almost). The building dates from 1684, long before the railways demanded the use of a standard time across the country, so the sundial should show local time. That would be roughly the same as Dublin Mean Time, with a small adjustment for the Equation of Time, or about an hour and 22 minutes behind standard time, all told. It doesn’t, and one source puts this down to a gross error made during one of two known restorations. So what time is it? Lunchtime.

The lines of the Samuel Beckett Bridge, inspired by the harp on the obverse of Irish coins, complement those of the Convention Centre and One Spencer Dock. Its location means Dublin’s second Calatrava bridge is fast becoming the city’s most recognisable landmark among the tech community. Leaving the Ha’penny Bridge in, well, the ha’penny place.

The 13th-century Record Tower is the only intact tower from the mediaeval period of Dublin Castle, and was used as a high security prison. The battlements were added in the early 19th century, around the time the adjoining gothic revival Chapel Royal was built.

It was from this tower that Red Hugh O’Donnell, Art O’Neill and Henry O’Neill made their escape on a winter’s night in 1592, setting out for Glenmalure after lowering themselves down the toilet chute. Participants in the Art O’Neill Challenge usually skip that part.