63) The Glimmer Man of Manor Street, D7
Large and voluminous local pub in the heart of Stoneybatter, with a distinct divide between lounge and bar – the latter dwarfs the former. Notable for the variety of weird objects assembled all over the walls and shelves and beyond, the fruit of many years' assiduous collection – a lending library of muckily fingered paperbacks is in evidence, a few fires lend warmth and hanging from the ceiling is a rickety full-size bed occupied by the blow-up dolls of a canoodling Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, a very eighties relic of the 'special relationship'. The name ‘Glimmer Man’ has nothing to do with the American buddy cop action thriller film bearing the same name starring a fat Steven Seagal, rather it denotes the profession of the inspectors responsible for monitoring the usage of gas during the restrictive years in the 1940s.
This pub was brought to my attention by Thomas Morris at a time in 2009 when he was acting as intern in The Lilliput Press on nearby Arbour Hill – the pub leniently allowed food not purchased on the premises to be consumed on the premises, and became a happy go-to for some time. Recently the pub has done extensive work on its back yard, incorporating a defunct taxi/boat to lend the shabbiness an air reminiscent of the Bernard Shaw – no doubt a reflection of the area's ever-growing trendiness.
Miscellaneous crowd of drinking types
Coll and Stephens met in the Bar one particular June 16th and were charged with having to explain the significance of Bloomsday for one particular bristly and bedraggled philistine. Here, dear reader, is a riveting side-note of invaluable value: this is the only pub in which Coll and Stephens (flawless specimens of the unathletic physique) briefly engaged in the playing of a sport of any kind. The game was darts, and the outcome - deplorable. A cadaverous and haggard revenant from the Harold House would have done better than we did (see: The Harold House).
Tipplers Tip: before imbibing here you should organise to have your bladder emptied or engineer to wear a nappy under cloth, for the lavatories are so smelly they’d make your pubes curl. A curious white winged campervan sits immobile on Manor Street as a glorified advertisement for the pub. Photos of both the interior and exterior are printed along its flanks. No Beamish is served here anymore, alas. Cash only – try 'tapping' at your peril - though that may likely change, post Coronavirus...
Update as of May 2023: The Glimmer Man now sells Beamish - Hallelujah! But at a costly €6.00 a pint. Their neighbours Tommy O’Gara’s and Walsh’s both have their Beamish at much better value.
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