Old man drinks

I left the house with two cans of Stoya and a hipflask of whiskey.

Then I bought a naggin of brandy to refill my empty flask before the long road into town.

Before spending the rest of the night drinking cognac.

And not a mixer in sight.

Brogans 9pm

Already a little pissed from the whiskey and sunshine I walk into Brogans, or Grogans or whatever it’s called by the Olympia. I’m waiting for Growler and Banksy1, maybe Anto too. I don’t expect the Beard to come in for ages, though he’s always good for a surprise. To be honest, I’m not sure at this stage what the plan is. 

With as much calm and control as can be mustered I saunter, consciously wide shouldered and chin-high, up to the bar “throw on a Guinness there for us please thanks” trails off as a single word uttered with a single breadth. The place is empty. A group of Americans, seemingly being led by an enthusiastic native, rattle off all the shots they know as if they were actually options.

The barman moves to the end of the bar, his safe zone, where his friends talk authoritatively on higher things; like psychoanalysis and Tarantino films. You get the sense that he’s putting off that moment, in about fifteen minutes, when he has to inform the Americans that he only has Vodka, Whiskey and Sambuka. None of which are ingredients to a ‘Bloody Tampon’. Whatever the disgusting that is.

I go for a piss, again, all focus going on underplaying my floppy drunken state. Being alone in a pub looks bad for someone my age, being drunk and alone is pathetic. I have an excuse, though, I convince myself, the homies are at least a pint away. And the global financial crisis demands that I down a naggin on the DART, regardless of company.

In, out, job done but I couldn’t help notice the lack of a mirror. Maybe there was one there once and somebody punched it, or stole it, this is Dublin. We’re all knackers really, deep down inside. I nod at the barman and he finishes my pint. The Americans are still ‘being wild’ as I hand over my €4.50 and look for a seat.

The dark corner by the door. I can play pool on my phone, and appreciate what is an excellent pint of black. It’s only now that I hear Thin Lizzy playing in the background. Growler calls, he’s only up on Leason. We’ll meet at the Foggy Dew in exactly the time it takes for me to finish a pint and stroll as far as the Central Bank. Perfect, epic call.

And I can’t help but think how much I adore this shitty, damp, miserable, angry hole of a city on this floater of an island. Because only here can a man drink a pint, alone, but within  earshot of a long passed glory, backed by a chorus of philosophers and madmen. And all the while, he still desperately wants to be anywhere else.

Naive from the outset

When I finish exams, I finish exams. Handed in my last project at 3, reached the pub having texted everyone I know somewhere around 3:02.

The rest is, like pre-history, a little hazy. Maybe hazy isn’t the right word, the truth is I need something a bit stronger. I put my laptop in my locker which, as it turns out, was probably the last intelligent thing I did all day. Afterwhich I remember nothing at all. My right hand is throbbing, jeans smell funny and I never actually made it home. I also had to suffer the indignity of still being fucked at half one this afternoon whilst desperately trying to hold down a breakfast roll. 

 

Still, no reason to stop me going out again tonight….or tomorrow…..or basically every day until I run out of money…probably Wednesday…

Getting served

I rarely get asked for I.D. This is lucky because I almost never carry I.D. However, on the rare occasions I do get asked* it’s very hard not to try and be smart or witty. Of course, my genius almost always falls on deaf ears and the favor** is usually returned with a look of disgust, a disinterested sigh and a question repeated.

Now, I know you, my faithful congregation, appreciate my greatness and may someday worship me(rightly) as some form of new Messiah. And so you deserve to hear the following.

I thought it was funny but the troll in Tescos disagreed when asked for ID and I did reply:

“ID? Why would I have ID? I have a beard and hard cash, gimme drunk!”

She stared at me, sighed, and repeated the question. Deflated, I meekly handed over my student travel card. Bully…

 

 

*invariably when buying tesco brand cat piss or just before doors at any shit nightclub of your choice

**of sharing my greatness

Patriotism

If man was meant to work on Saturday mornings there would be no Friday nights. TO THAT END, I have decided that me being in work on time on a Saturday is an offence to god and all his creations.

Therefore, not only did I have the right to show up late* but it was my duty as a citizen and a christian. Acts of principle never come without a price but if I am to be punished may the executioner know that at his hands did an innocent suffer.

“Minimum effort for minimum wage”  That, my friends, shall be our battle cry. We should march on parliament, but we really I’m not bothered and I’m sure you’re not either.

Cuppa?

 

*by an hour and still stinking of drink from the night before

Excuse me, can I make a revelation?

Apparently not, even at the high level of procrastrination I’m currently operating at I am completely devoid of any ideas. That last sentence would be a prime example. I use the same words again and again because I know no others.

Think I got up too early.

I arrived home with 2 and a half litres of spirits bought for under 40e. I marched right up to the mirror, shocked to find that not only could I look myself in the eye-but I liked what I saw!

The intrepid explorer returning with the finest spices from the colonies. Meant to buy smokes for Growler and the Beard but couldn’t afford them. A bottle of Bushmills, a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Jameson for myself will do. Well the vodkas not for me, it’s a prezzie. I wouldn’t drink that piss*, please.

I feel a bit raw. Went to visit AAF on his erasmus adventure, legislation to deal with the crisis we caused is to be included in the next draft of the Lisbon Treaty. Couldn’t be helped I suppose. We drank stuff, climbed stuff, walked into stuff, got kicked out of stuff, woke up covered in stuff and probably broke some stuff while we were at it.

I’m still itchy from that thorn bush. Still, a lesson well learnt. If stealth and circumstance ever combine to force a man to piss kneeling down, remember; this is the only dick related situation where getting up is harder than staying down.

There’s a story of genuine adventure and intrigue in there somewhere. I’m just not sure if I should say it out loud-what if the ringmaster is still looking for us? And that car chase….

P.S.

The honour system for public transport is fundamentally flawed. It does not account for me.

 

*well, I mean, ye, shut up. Rachmaninov and Irn Bru is different.

Tetris

No, you can’t do this to me.

She spent the night marking me out as her own, but I still ended up all alone. I really wasn’t interested but she blocked off all my other options. I was aiming for just above my league, because I need to prove I don’t believe in leagues, but thats kinda hard to do when you have some wan hanging out of ye like a tree.

I dunno, I’m dying, skipping classes and not making sense

And you stick your head back out and say “we’ll have another round”

I feel awful, really really awful. The type of awful that only a recently re-elected Boris Yeltzan could understand. My cover has been blown in work, they can see it in my eyes and here it in what’s left of my voice. Suppose’it began early, around 2, and ended in the sort of cliched disaster that you people have come to expect from me.

There was shots both cheap and strong, looks of contempt and longing, pints and pints of nonsense, people ridin’on the dancefloor, aggro aggressio, complete messy yo. It was deadly. 

I had just got new insoles-wooh! agony*. There was light in the day,strong, crisp sunlight. A pint with AAF in Shine? What harm? Complications with the round system turned one into three but we had sense to quit while we were ahead. By a geographical fluke, we were trying to avoid Graftons crowds, Kehoes managed to make its way onto the route home. And as a practicing Catholic it felt wrong to pass without, at the very least, checking if the snug was free.

Guess what? Comfy seats and another two Guinness please. Five by four, a good day were it not for the night ahead. We had a 21st to attend, the necessity to go home and sober up was becoming urgeant. We made a second attempt, only to find that neither of us had ever been in the Duke. Two more please, I’ll find the seats.

Things were starting to get a bit raggedy at this point. It really was time to go home and eat some bread. We made it to the bus stop but himself had a return for the DART. So we cursed and laughed our way down Nassau street, only to find ourselves outside another public house. I can’t remember the name, its the one before Kennedy’s and Trinity. The one with the silly little lift, cafe atmosphere and what seem to be clean toliets**. Odd place.

We stood outside, noses pressed to the glass. “Really should be going home…”. “flick a coin for it?”. The citizens stared out at our gamble; bemused, confused or just a bit scared. They gave pleading looks to the bar staff; block the door, refuse service, anything. Too late. Tails up. Orders in.

In the space of a pint we got a slap on the wrist for playing with the lift. We probably wouldn’t be allowed finish a second. It was worth it though, I love playing with the lift. It’s a well known equation; pointless contraption=excellent fun

Eventually we reached Pearse station, murdered two packs of crisps each and headed South. We spent the entire DART ride slagging some kid asleep in the corner, the man opposite us wasn’t impressed but said nothing. Well, nothing until I suggested turning the child upside down; it was then he decided to re-claim his son. That was awkward.

Fucked beyond fucked I made it home and played it cool. I hid in the shower, slyly drinking from the head in a feeble attempt to sober up. Then I hid in my room. It was in the living room when, after about twenty minutes, my mam turned to me and said “exactly how drunk are you?” “Oiiiim goen ow”.

And thats just what I did. I’m currently waiting for the embarrassing stories to come back to me, there’ll be a solid few.

 

*In fairness the doc warned me that they’d be very different, what I didn’t expect was to feel the muscle in my calfs going in opposite directions

**In a Dublin pub this can be interpreted in many ways A) bad guinness B) terrible guinness C) someone has spiked your terrible guinness with acid

Stick to what you’re good at kid; Reckless Endangerment

Galways deadly, its always been deadly. Even though there’s an element of Temple Bar cynicsm sneaking in and wrapping its craven claws around the neck of craic, pinning her to the wall and smiling like a killer- I reckon the ol’girl won’t completely put out for a wee while longer. Hopefully the recession will flush out the pricks responsible.

In a night where I got more looks of disapointment than your average bus stop on a rainy day, its probably best to skip the details and go straight for the scandal. Discovery channel says the Devil is in the Details but they’re prone to misleading titles* so I think its best to do the opposite of what they say. Then again, some details can be vague;

There was a bottle of whiskey, a playstation three, a nasty stain in a nice hotel followed by a childrens playground. But they all faded to nothing at the stump of a kings head which led, by virginal virtue and cobbled streets, to a grown-ups playground where I asked him again and again but the DJ said Prodigy were too hard and Underworld were too hard and he heard me and felt my pain and wanted to do OUR DANCEFLOOR some justice but alas, for the love of his own sweet ass, he’b be in breach of contract if he didn’t play more Rhianna. Music like tropicana compared to c-c-c-coka-cabanna. Strepsils to fun pills, or just normal pils to any other kind of beer. I took my revenge like with a starfish on the floor, the bouncer didn’t like it, I threw my phone around, the bouncer didn’t like it, I don’t remember the taxi home.

But I do remember the session in the room after, another skinful of whiskey and slow struggle up the stairs to lay my head down to sleep. Maybe I’d dream of happier times to come, I thought, maybe I did. But all of this is nothing but context for the real story, the kick, the punchline the part that isn’t written in this daft lyrical rythm. Its the bit where I awoke to find myself no longer in my room.

Waking up in your boxers in the monotonous halls of a hotel isn’t that strange an experience for me, lets just say I wouldn’t pass comment if it happened to you. Heck, waking up blind drunk kinda goes with the territory so it wasn’t the worst. But, doing it standing up-thats a new one.

According to the tee-totaller I was sharing the free room with, I got up and walked towards the bathroom-but kept going. I didn’t know I sleep walk and I have never been so thoroughly confused in my life. The worst feeling in the world is when you have to do something rather complicated-like break back into your hotel room without a key-when you are in a state so far removed from being trustworthy with heavy machinery that Diageo would send a formal letter of apology to your mother, your granny, your aunty whose a nun and the career guidance teacher who said ‘you can do anything’**. Luckily the time-tested method of pounding the door and shouting obscenities, though not subtle, still has an incredible power over the sober classes.

She was unimpressed…..whats new?

 

 

*their new show ‘Deadly Women’ has not a looker in the bunch, in fact, half of them look like bleedin’psychos. I would also like to point out that ‘Deadliest Catch’ has absolutely nothing to do with STIs.

**As the years stagger by I am increasingly of the belief that what she meant was ‘you will do anything…’

never again he said

I am never ever drinking again. I feel like I’ve swallowed a hedgehog whole. My eyes hurt, I smell and I agreed to get a flight to Paris with my bro when I clearly can’t afford it.

I feel sho shick, ah fuck it, I may as well have one for the cure!