It had to happen. And it did happen, in spite of all our brave vows to forsake the invading franchise from across the pond, even after all the myriad horrors of the Silver Penny of Abbey Street. For to our shame, we have only gone and added another recent Wetherspoons acquisition to our list. But reader dear, how could you blame us, poor simple males already disappointed by the produce of Dalkey [1]? For the Beamish of the Forty Foot costs only two euros and ninety five cents, and flows at such a copious rate that the taste is indeed delicious, doubly so when coupled with such a price, so light on the pocket and so pleasing to the palate. 

And if you ignore the general lousiness of the nondescript interior decor, and have succeeded in fighting your way through to being served, having braved the hordes of goblins crowding out the counter of a sporty Sunday's session, and have with due labour and care managed to writhe past the geriatrics clogging the stairwell and elbowed one's way through to the balcony, gasping in the fresher air as one staggers to one's seat on stumbling feet, one will be deservedly rewarded at last with a view unparalleled and a panoramic vista unforeseen, no less than the whole of Dublin bay spread out before one's enraptured sight and eager eyes, the sea our great sweet mother never so sweet nor maternal in her bathing hues of blue, with big Ben Howth on the horizon and the setting sun spreading lustrous roses and effulgent rays over all the enchanted scene in beaming bouquets. 

(Purple prose and half-assed rhapsody aside, we must admit that it was in fact pissing wet on the day of our visit, and such was the spray and spit from the sea and sky that we soon had to scurry back to the doldrums within for warmth.) So all in all, if one can but swallow one's purist pride, it is well worth it for the view and the price. Consider this small calculation – six pints for under twenty euro?! Count us in!

FOOTNOTE

[1] The disappointment was compounded by a recent lengthy trek to the Eagles House of 18-19 Glasthule Road, Glasthule, South County Dublin. We saw the hugely impressive exterior from a long way off and our appetites were duly whetted in delighted expectation, but upon coming closer, we were aghast to find it most dismally shut and out of business. 'Only since last week!' said an aul wan just passing; 'Three months closed,' said a waiter across the road. Either way, R.I.P. The Eagles House, 'tis our shame that we never knew ye in your prime and plumage, and may this gratuitous footnote serve you well by way of most modest of memorials. Ah, it would send you straight to the Wetherspoons for relief, so it would. (AND IT DID. *hollow laugh*)

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