276) Mullett's Bar of Amiens Street, D1

‘So, bevelling around by Mullett’s’ wrote Joyce in Ulysses, the entrance to which is on Amiens Street, the exit onto Foley Street (which used to be the infamous red right district known as ‘The Monto’). However, now the exit is an arresting and sinister sight as the whole façade is cemented over including the windows with just the name ‘John Mullet’ visible in what looks like the world’s longest lock-in. Pictures of prize horses and jockeys, along with Irish flags and decorated bodhrans bedeck the walls.

We put ourselves at a table by the front window. After half a pint or so, we were accosted (one of the only times in the whole course of our travels) by a pair of pricks who were protesting against our presence, we being ‘outsiders’. Their sneaky strategy in attack was to demand to know where we were from, and to know where our parents were from, but to totally ignore the questions whenever we inverted them and inquired as to where they came from. They belched a few slurs and suggested that we ought to ‘stick to the South side where yizzer from!’ But we, being seasoned Publopedians, were very much on a mission and firmly defended our right to take a pint anywhere we liked. We then proceeded to suggest that the old pissheads, bitter on the grog, would be better minding their own bloody business. But ‘begob, it’d turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would!’ So, apart from the Joycean connection there wasn’t a whole host of excuses to stick around. We upped and left, not wishing to return.

Greaseball struggles to read paper while hothead gives forth harangue

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