The upstairs at one time or another has been a favourite of Open Readings. Has an understated 'gay' reputation (will you be standing or Nealon tonight? – as the man says), given its nearness to the Panti Bar across the street – a solitary drinker may receive odd looks, as though they were seeking Dutch courage before making the plunge into the heart of 'pinkness'.

One sad case glimpsed here at the counter earned himself the monicker of 'James Clarence Mangan' owing to his haunting resemblance to the destitute poet, wild-haired, cloaked and shaggy, clutching a satchel of dirty books through whose crackling leaves he numbly thumbed uncomprehending, mutely raising an arthritic finger to prompt a further glass.

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