314) The Ref Pub of Ballybough Road, D3

This place just about passes for a pub. It has little to show for itself other that a dull and dirty room with some neon beer taps. Atmosphere: threatening. Enter at your own risk. Our entry was barred by a drunk lady shouting foul-mouthed torrents of self-justification, and an unfriendly football was kicked in our direction by a surly youth – unlikely an invitation to join in the game, likelier still to be a not-so-veiled threat aimed at our heads. The newcomer to the Ref (previously called Tom Clarke's, Collin's, Molly's and The Blind Ref) will be greeted with threatening stares from the dissolute and disheveled clientele, not least from the pool players who dominate the doorway and who wouldn't mind poking your eyes out with their cues; the bar cannot be said to be understaffed, since at least three men were working the counter at one point.

A poster on the wall, depicting Humphrey Bogart in his trademark trenchcoat, is labelled 'No Bogeys' – bearing in mind Bogart's past depictions of private eyes Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe, perhaps this is a surreptitious warning to watch out for undercover cops? Given the hostile eyeballing we were receiving, perhaps that's what they took us for – and they were far from the first. A passable Guinness is served, but one has no incentive to linger, merely to drink up and get the hell out.

Drink up and GET THE FUCK OUT!!!

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