Deep in the heart of affluence stands a humble vestige of an easy Inn. Unlike all the surrounding ‘trendy’ bars bursting with gastritis and competing for the wallets of suits, McCloskey’s has remained dignified and sedate. For decades it has prevailed chiefly unchanged in a kind of silent protest against the unstoppable sprawl all around it. An innocuous exterior gives way to a cavernous hall with alcoves within. Some of these alcoves at the very back of the pub would be in deep darkness were it not for a large lamp placed right in the middle of the floor - acting as a little lighthouse. The few knickknacks and pictures on the walls are archaic and the patterns on the carpet underfoot are Overlookean. It’s entirely a traditional establishment famed for its simplicity.

We deposited ourselves at the bar and asked for a brace of Beamish for which we were charged an eye-bulging €8.00, only! The attentive barman made sure to be prompt (although on subsequent visits he has proven to be occasionally forgetful) and landed both pints not on the naked wood of the bar but on the beer-mats he had previously laid out. In the act of carrying the pints from tap to mat, they overflowed with thick cream dribbling over the brim which he gladly licked and sucked off his stubby chubby fingers (perhaps for him a taste of things to come come closing hour). They were particularly palatable pints, and for any area of Dublin, let alone D4, an outstanding price.

O how the more expensive rivals must scorn McCloskey’s. Yet still it stands, and long may it stand still. Unchanged in the face of change, it’s ‘stately, plump,’ it’s a ‘damned saint,’ it’s ‘humble and high,’ and we drank hearty to its health which is worryingly on the wane for alas, it was sold by private treaty in 2017. An attempt made in 2019 to turn it into a residential development was rejected by the Planning Board and thanks be to the little lord Jesus for the rejection! After we carefully tested more samples from yet more Beamish specimens, we made our way outside to perhaps the best beer garden in all of Dublin for its serenity. It’s a unique setting beyond the canopied smoking area as it feels like one is sitting in the surrounds of trees, plants and shrubs on the lawn of an old friend’s garden.

Once, Sam called in to sip on a quick one whilst waiting for his lady Larissa to finish work. On entry he found himself heavily gobsmacked to find John (barman extraordinaire of Grace’s fame, AKA Michael D. Higgins, AKA Yoda) pulling a pint. ‘You must have thought you were off your balance seeing me here!’ said he, to said Sam. The company of such a seasoned pro-o’-the-pub makes McCloskey’s all the more alluring, even if he only graces the bar ‘the very odd time.’ Toilets are spacious and clean but one of the hand-basins has gone the way of all basins over the course of time and is presently propped up by a stack of beer-mats acting as a wedge keeping the failed Armitage Shank aloft. (Subsequent visits post Covid-19 has shown the sink to be fixed - and fair play!). Larissa has revealed that the female facilities are clean but very much lacking in light. In fact, it was so dark in the cubicle in which she sat that she felt obliged to admit ‘I’m not sure where I pissed!’ One of the very finest old watering holes. Long live McCloskey’s!

**Little John of Grace’s, wont to moonlight ‘the very odd time’ in McCloskey’s**

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