Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
Pub
Published: Evening Herald, March 2007The Celt
The New York Times this week reported that the Irish and English peoples may actually comprise – whisper it – one ethnic group. Professor Stephen Oppenheimer of the University of Oxford believes that the countries’ Celtic and Anglo-Saxon identities are a myth, and that the inhabitants of both islands are descended from Spanish hunters, who settled here 16,000 years ago.
Oh yeah? Well, let me tell you something, Professor Flop-enheimer. Our deceased forefathers have had enough to contend with lately.* We will not have Livin’ La Vida Loca in Croke Park! Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, April 2010The Bull & Castle
It’s the last outing for this column. Aidan and I are celebrating at the Bull & Castle in Christchurch. We’re joined by our friend, Johnny, briefly home from the States. “Butler pays for everything, by the way,” says Aidan, as we take our seats. “Why?” I ask. Aidan snorts. “I’ve given you enough fucking material,” he says. “You’re lucky I don’t sue ya for commission.”
He has a point. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, March 2010Break for the Border
It’s Thursday night in Break for the Border, a sprawling open-plan bar on split levels. There are pool tables and waitresses in hot pants. Rock and roll blasting from the speakers. Yee-haw! Why the hell haven’t I been here before?
Aidan wants to play pool. I hate pool. He always beats me. We find a table. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, January 2010Dakota
We call him Pothole. His dad is a property developer. The nickname derives from that fact that Pothole’s personality is so grating, his manner so repugnant, people will go to almost any length to avoid bumping into him. Read the rest of this entry »
ARLINGTON HOTEL
Transformer robots… High School Musical dolls… Selection Boxes and bottles of Jameson… When it comes to Christmas shopping, my great aunt Geraldine likes to get the job done early. Her annual trip to Dublin is the stuff of legend. And, let’s just say, her shopping prowess is only half the story.
It’s lunchtime. The shopping bags have been discarded. And the Westport train doesn’t leave until six. Auntie Geraldine, though, is putting the G&Ts away like they were on special offer. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, December 2008Hogan’s
It’s Saturday night and Aidan is down in the dumps. I’m not sure what his problem is. But no doubt he’s going to fill me in. He’s not a man to bottle these things up, that’s for sure.
“Would you say I’m getting fat?” he asks, eventually.
I look him up and down.
“You are fat,” I reply. “I’d say you were getting fatter.” Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, August 13 2009P. MCCORMACK (THE WHITE HORSE INN)
I’m feeling a little nauseous. Granted, that’s not saying much. But on this occasion the Anheuser-Busch Corporation bares no responsibility for that state of affairs. The management of my local Abrakebabra franchise too can hold their heads up high.
Hell, even that crazy, obese Scottish lady on my street – who has recently taken to wearing white see-through trousers over a skimpy white thong – is, for once, quite blameless. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, July 23 2009HARTIGANS
It’s six o’clock on a Thursday evening and Hartigan’s – an old fashioned, family-run boozer on the doorstep of Stephen’s Green – is filling up with after-work drinkers. I’ve heard a few stories about this place. But this is my first time over the threshold.
With its rough-and-ready decor, bizarre zig-zag layout and curious blend of customers, Hartigan’s actually reminds me of nowhere so much (and I realise that this may be a pretty obscure reference for 99% of readers) as Julian’s of Midfield. Read the rest of this entry »
Published: Evening Herald, May 28 2009The Octagon Bar
I have climbed the highest mountain. I have roamed through the fields. A mighty nettle stung me and then I got chased by a bullock. But sure I got here eventually. Read the rest of this entry »
THE INTERNATIONAL BAR
It’s funny the thoughts that run through your head sometimes. We’re holed up in the men’s jacks of the International Bar. Austin’s is about to cough up his sordid little secret. The one that’s eating him up inside. But all I can think about is the smell of Chinese food… Read the rest of this entry »