115) Briody's of Marlborough Street, D1

Judge of our former naivety – we passed over The Flowing Tide (see below) in favour of this hole, deeming the former gem 'too threatening'. What saps! Briody's is a depressing den of iniquity, cheap but not cheerful, sour and smoky, stale and stinky. Our single visit was distinguished by the barman's memorable admonition of a regular whose dismally plastered condition would appear to have been augmented and accelerated by the swift downing of a few cans in the crapper, to supplement the drink doled out from behind the counter. The phrasing of the berating of the bartender heaped upon the barfly ('Ah jesus John, NOT AGAIN...') would help suggest that this was a regular ritual for them, if not a nightly process. The barman might well examine his own conscience – bad as the man was, he had a lot of help getting there.

Covid-19 update as of September 2020: this pub has been a busy little renegade rulebender. If one was wise to Briody’s secret knock, entry was granted, and one did not have to purchase an insubstantial €9 meal, nor observe any time limit. Fortunate were those who got wet in here when other wet-pubs were deeply dry. Howya Briody’s? - Not too ducking fusty!

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