The Phoenix Park
A magnificent and infinitely capacious wonderland for the outdoor drinker - even our then-Taoiseach Varadkar was photographed underneath Earwicker's Prick (otherwise known as the Wellington Monument-cum-Testimonial) sunbathing whiles enjoying a supposedly illegal glass of wine - there's much to be disliked about him, but in this respect we applaud him, seemingly giving us a State-sponsored thumbs-up as we headed to these roomy grasslands for some economic scoops beneath the boughs of trees and skies and stars. The overwhelming vast size of the park is conducive to hunting down many an undiscovered nugget or nook where no passers-by will pry (a large majority of picnicking parties never get beyond the Monument!), and the leaves of the trees and bushes and the shadows of the walls will afford shelter from any ranger who might break up the sesh or tell you not to feed the deer.
We found one especially lovely spot towards the park's southwest corner, consisting of a hilltop Tree of Knowledge overlooking an Enchanted Meadow full of high soft grasses where you can wallow and hide, and enjoyed much music and sun-kissed vistas, with the creamy dreamy blue mountains far beyond - you might even be able to spot the pinprick Hellfire Club at a squint. We shall not disclose the Google Map coordinates of this wondrous spot - better to keep a gem secret. And yet alas, the snake entered Eden and there was corruption forsooth - subsequent revisits over the summer months revealed that this area is far from secret, being rather overpopular with 'doggers' - avert your appalled eyes from the shifty fellows in the 'Jimmy Saville bottoms' (for the tracksuit is easier dropped than the belted denims) - and look away from that tree where a handjob seems to be in progress, and avoid that hillside where a full scale man-mounting is in motion, with one bare-chested perv standing aside on the pathway to monitor the action and give the heads-up in case of any disturbance. Ah for shame! These spectacles rather polluted the place's enchantment. Ah well.
You may ogle at herons in their nests, hooded crows, jackdaws, magpies, rooks, Robins, blackbirds and seagulls, to say nothing of the many herds of deer - the noises they make by nightfall are singularly disquieting, akin to the guttural growls and grunts of a demon-infested Regan MacNeil. We found the famous and much-hyped Furry Glen a bit of a disappointment, crawling with bawling youngsters as it was, but enjoyed many a cheeky tipple in the dark on a bench by Chesterfield Avenue, not so far from our President's doorstep. In short, The Phoenix Park is utterly inexhaustible, a thing of great beauty and a joy for ever, one of Dublin's true treasures and a glory hole for the unsheltered drinker - though preferably in the summertime when the days are longer and the weather warmer - begod but it was icy cold of a November night when the poor pubs were forcibly shut down again!
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