Sunday, May 24, 2009

In Nearys we trust

I knew it was all over when we found the half empty ground floor of Nearys. We sat at the couch on the end beside the men's toilets, cheering the fact there was no television broadcasting disgusting rugby union all over our lovely Saturday evenings.

Come 7pm I was afraid to leave, imaginings of the Leinster hordes outside, so we took another pint and another pint again.

The process repeated itself to the point of drunkenness, Bewleys and then a burger and now I feel like the ghost of a trace of a pale imitation of a man.

11 comments:

McMuck said...

Solid reasoning for rampant pintage (and for your solids being less than solid this morning). But, like, OMG how could you not watch BOD lift the Heino Cup, roish?

Erf said...

A Lurker no longer.. A good day. Apparently I was staring at people on Grafton Street. If I'd finished that last drink no doubt I would have followed up staring by shouting!

Meadow said...

Afraid? Of Leinster rugby supporters? Awww....

Radge said...

McMuck - I don't have the words.

Erf - I think I finished it for you, but no shouting.

Meadow - They have no teeth and walk with a hunch. Mad eyes, too.

laughykate said...

'now I feel like the ghost of a trace of a pale imitation of a man.'

Heh. May I prescribe a bowl of fries and later on a thai green curry?

Red Leeroy said...

I wish I was there right now.

Radge said...

Kate - I think I need some green tea and a lie down, if it's all the one to you.

Red - My arse groove should still be in place.

swiss said...

i am unfamiliar with the doings of irish rugby boys ut if it's anything like our version it won;t be pretty. as it was i found myself, foolishly, in the west among population for the conclusion of the premier league. the streets were therefore spattered with increasingly drunk and aggressive rangers fans. ugly. ugly. ugly.

perhaps i should've stayed home and punched myself in the bollocks or something

Holemaster said...

I watched it in a total shithole in Kilburn. The remaining bitter stragglers of 1950s Irish had no interest in it.

Kath Lockett said...

"... the ghost of a trace of a pale imitation of a man."

You're a poet!

Radge said...

Kath - Wish I could claim that line myself, but it's not my own. Then again, they do say that genius steals (ahem).