21) The Beer Market (now: The Christchurch Inn) of High Street, the Liberties, D8

This market is perhaps a disquieting sign of things to come. It stinks of, and has the same manner as the insatiably fat British monster Wetherspoons. This ostentatious ‘barf market’ has all kinds of crafty beers neurotically numbered so that all a dullard need do when ordering a drink is quote a number. “Excuse they! Does tap 23 yield an unsweetened cider? We only drink distinct tannins and prefer our foxwhelp apples bittersharp.” Some of these taps excrete exorbitant potations butterscotch in complexion into dumb tumblers chaperoning sugar-powdered wedges of kumquat, and the like.

Craft beer - is daft beer - and many here, have much money, not sense.

The bar, run by the insufferable Galway Bay Brewery, offers greasy fast food - perfect for the dining dickhead looking to burger. Staff once had the gall to chalk up an advertisement board with the following message: ‘We sell beer, the best beer and nothing but beer. We don’t sell mass produced crap by the bucket full. We sell flavour-packed liquid sex…’ Jesus wept! You get the picture, mainly hipster, soiled toilets and dirty napkins.

Update as of 2023: Well it didn’t last long - and thank Christ for that, for The Beer Market is now called the Christchurch Inn, a decidedly better name. There seems to be more of a focus on good old Liberty Guinness as opposed to a frillion beers to give you the shits. This is an improvement, of sorts.

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