Named after the small bird of prey from the falcon family and shaped like a hexagonal bird tower jutting out marking the level land by the Walkinstown roundabout. When we arrived, we could have sworn the place was shut, so dead and deserted a face did it present unto us, prompting peering into dark windows only to see chairs piled up in empty rooms. We were on the point of moving swiftly on (would that we had!), when a light was discerned on the other side of the building - lo and behold, it was open after all, with a respectable crowd and even a live singer droning on, working the room like a pro. We ambled over to the entrance, followed by a ghost of a ghost of a frail old lady for whom one held the door, thinking she wanted to enter in after us - but no, she only wanted to smoke in the shelter of the alcove and then scurry off. (No doubt she was wiser than we, who lingered and lamented.)

The place has the atmosphere of a more populous Addison Lodge, and exerts a similar fascination - something went wrong here along the way, and I’ll be damned if I know what. The barman’s name was Woody and he served us a round of Guinness for €10.80. Having served, he took a break and went off to eat a Centra sandwich, alone by himself in an empty Meeting Room adjacent to where we sat. Stand By Me was booming away on the soundtrack. The place has the horn for SIMPLY RED. At one point, the Singer jumped the queue to be served a stinking Fosters, his brew of choice. Whatever he sings he gets the ‘Sympathy Clap’. A creepy man was doing the rounds, idling about in circles, perhaps checking out us newcomers to gauge if we were alright.

At one point the Singer asked ‘Any requests?’ Said Sam glibly (under his breath), ‘Yeah, euthanasia.’ For that is the kind of vibe the place gives off, the windows left open to allow the release of a Fart Attack. A yellow cone for WET FLOOR was displayed prominently, suggestive of a recent urination on said floor. Who in their right minds would come here? Just up the road is The Halfway House, a veritable Age of Enlightenment compared to this - over this end, it’s The Stone Age. Sam Coll left for the toilet, and Andrew Stephens made this morose note, indicative of the kind of depression the place inspires: ‘Sam is taking a piss at this very moment and I am sitting alone in one of the World’s Worst Pubs. But hey, it’s all for the work.’ If there is a saving grace to the place, it is that the clientele are very friendly. Sometimes that’s enough.

Tippler’s Tip: Tinkler’s top should be covered for Big Brother is watching…

Update as of 2022: The eerie link between The Addison Lodge and The Kestrel grows larger, as the latter looks like it’s destined for the same sorry fate as the former. Planning permission has been granted to demolish The Kestrel and build apartments on its site. WATCH THIS SPACE!

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