299) The Full Shilling of Main Street, Finglas, D11

Located under a gated archway leading to a large carpark, distinguished, on our single visit, by a can-swilling wino soggy with his own piss, a sorry sight which lowered expectations. But the establishment within was a happy surprise, cavernous and labyrinthine, the aesthetic a cross between a barn and a cathedral, replete with many a hidden nook and secret cranny, with seats of all sorts, varying from lengthy leather couches and armchairs to wooden stools and poofs for the feet, with virtual drawbridges suspended in space leading to rarefied higher balconies. Curios of all sorts line the walls, including crocodiles in baskets, old typewriters, old cash registers, stuffed ferrets and a vintage poster for Colgate's shaving soap featuring an apple-cheeked youngster seemingly snorting coke. The relics of an old grocery shopfront sit on the side, the remains of the original building.

One of the wall’s curios

Feeling like potential buyers, we quizzed the young barman (working at a most unusual square counter), who informed us that it operated as a nightclub on Fridays and Saturdays (the DJ working from a lofty height on a balcony above), and that the (official) capacity was 300. At the time of our visit the place was largely and draftily deserted, allowing for much of the pleasantness of its discovery. Another surprise came when the bouncer from O'Riordan's (see above) popped into the Full Shilling via a secret passage or tunnel by the toilets to the side – the two bars are thus connected at the waist, Siamese-twin-style (albeit with a vast discrepancy in size), but only for those in the know (and with the blow).

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