Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
Pub
Published: Evening Herald, November 2008FLANNERY’S
Why do I despise Flannery’s pub on Camden Street? A candid response to that question could fill a 12-page pull-out supplement. Suffice to say: Drunk off-duty Gardai. Drunk off-duty nurses. Drunk off-duty Gardai copulating with drunk off-duty nurses. Fake tan. Peroxide. Rugby jerseys. DJs with mid-Atlantic accents who say things like “It’s Saturday night in Flannery’s and the paarty is just getting staarted…”
10.47pm: There’s a queue to get in. I don’t believe it. Queuing to get into Flannery’s is like filling out an application to put on weight.
11.01pm: Bouncer asks me for I.D. Damn right. There are too many balding teenagers running around in bars these days.
11.07pm: We get a table next to an English rugby team. This should be fun.
11.13pm: The man whose massive arse keeps bumping into my back is wearing a kilt, a rugby jersey, dreadlocks and has an inordinately thick neck. The only way I could like him less would be if he were to start wiping snot in my face.
11.32pm: There’s a photograph of the Irish ice hockey team on the wall. I nudge Scally. He isn’t too impressed. “I’m surprised there’s even twenty Irish guys who know how to ice skate,” he says.
12.17am: Two regular readers, Mick and Kev, take me to task over something I wrote in this column a few weeks ago. They also ask me to give them a mention some time. Happy to oblige, lads.
1.13am: I reckon our friend Dave has now tried it on with near enough every girl in the bar. Not that he’s asking my advice or anything, but I really don’t think he should let potential conquests witness him being rejected by the rest their friends first. It doesn’t do him any favours.
1.23am: Dave tells me we’re heading to Copper Face Jacks after this. I slap him on the back and laugh.
1.25am: I realise he isn’t joking. Christ.
2.01am: I excuse myself, saying I need to use the bathroom.
2.02am: Oldest trick in the book… I leg it down Camden Street. Rick’s Burgers is calling.
2.06am: My phone is ringing. I let it ring.