The Lord Edward pub. By some freakish turn of happenstance I'd never set foot inside it before last night, another one ticked off the list.
The bar was well stocked with worldly ales, whiskeys and vodkas for the Christchurch converts. Of course, you'd expect such things, what with the general publiness of the surrounds.
We took a seat near the door and immediately set to discussing the events of the day. A crashing bore of a football match, the nip in the air, the fact that my belt had missed a loop in my trouserwear. That kind of thing. Politics, both sexual and governmental, left unspoke.
The air changed some time around 8pm. A frisson of excitement, a definite heightening of the atmosphere. Pints were left at tables untended, beermats left atop to give the illusion of smoking outside.
It was not so. No.
No, they, the men with full grey stubble and betting slips, were huddled around the television three deep.
What great calling was this? What was causing these obvious grandfathers, these drinking men, these old time Dubliners to abandon all discourse in favour of the widescreen wankbox overhead?
It wasn't the Spanish football. They turned that off. It wasn't racing from Wolverhampton or Kempton. No. It wasn't even Anne Doyle and the stiffy that dare not speak its name.
It was, of course, the worst centre parting in the history of television, two little gimps that would be Bros and the shattered dreams of a girl called Lucie.
The Lucky Leopard's alive and well, pissing on O'Leary's grave.
14 comments:
Ever since I found myself in a pub in Kilkenny of a Saturday night and realised that all the locals who had gathered were there for the sole purpose of watching You're a Star I have known that Ireland's handbasket arrived in hell a long time ago.
I am offended that I know as much about as I do despite having never watched it.
It's pervasive in the face.
Idiotification by osmosis, gents.
Must be a gay pub so.
I considered that, but it wasn't well appointed enough.
I'll be waiting at Dublin Airport on top of the SR Technics airplane depository building with a high powered rifle, scope and two bullets. I won't miss.
Not sure which is worse: American politicians or Simon Cowell. Can't figure out how to get him banned here, especially after hearing how much money they pay him to grouse on "American Idol"!
Holemaster can I help in any way on your glorious quest?
Holemaster and Narocroc - I'll duck.
Hope - If you put John and Edward into YouTube you'll see the true nature of evil.
I saw them on someone else's blog yesterday who'd posted their last "performance". Dear Lord in heaven what is the world coming too? Axle grease in their hair and Britney Spears [really?!] slipping out in off beat stranglings that I suppose was singing.
No, Simon C. isn't the Antichrist... I hear the Antichrist is scared of Simon.
or not.
Sorry Swiss, I've been in a fugue of my own self-doing for the last couple of days. I missed that.
Post a Comment