Permanently Closed. Now completely demolished.

Formerly an affable city centre pub facing The Irish Times (now ruined - see 'Ruin' bar) and a onetime favourite of the student body, owing to its proximity to TCD and the beguiling cheapness of its pissy beer and porter (€3.50 a pop in its heyday!), as well as the occasional free chicken wings or cocktail sausages courtesy of the many society banquets. It was happy to facilitate the hosting of pub-quizzes and bent the rules with last orders. Daytime drinking was encouraged. The unofficial part-time public rehearsal space for Ronan Murphy and Sam Coll during their Anna Livia Plurabelle adaptation [1]. Large windows allowed for an exceptional view of winter snow. Toilets were found down two flights of stairs where many an impoverished student supplemented drinks with alcohol freshly smuggled. A quaint raised area separated the bar from the lounge and served as a false snug with a hatch to the bar through which pints were passed.

The odd argument and fall-out was not uncommon causing a scene for prying patrons. One such occasion involved the aforementioned Ronan Murphy, Sam Coll, and Andrew Stephens which took place in the lounge. Murphy, late to the party, sober and stiff, allowed a malevolent blend of paranoia and jealousy to take grip causing an outburst on his part from which the group never recovered. Sincere compliments offered to the singer were interpreted as ‘bullshit’ in his mind which he made vocal. With a contemptuous and scornful squint, he downed the last of his drink, reluctantly doled out dishonest hugs and turned his back on years of friendship. This anecdote serves as proof that a pub is a strange arena. It can be as hellish as it is heavenly, and for a great many it acts as a parliament, an institution, a church and confession box, a living-room, an office, a classroom, a theatre stage, a courtroom, a university, a land of the free, a prison without a key… a grave.

Staff included Mick (a dour old bollocks full of contempt for any customer with academic credentials), Eugene (friendly albeit odd and given to uncomfortably probing gazes, a musician of sorts related to the owners), and a nameless fellow of markedly homosexual inclinations, subsequently seen moonlighting elsewhere, and off of whom one could get free fags or booze in exchange for a fake phone number.

FOOTNOTE

[1] ALP adaptation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5wc7c-Co3Q

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