Well, that was the plan when we headed into Ron’s on Saturday afternoon. However, some kind of strange pub crawl began and ended last night at around 11.30. Some highlights:
- A very tall man who looks like a sheep with his face painted green, white and orange telling me a very intense story or perhaps a story very intensely. I have no idea what that story was about.
- Some young lad clipping Jimmy the Bollix around the ear because he didn’t like the way Jimmy told some annoying girl to ‘go away’. This was swiftly followed by Jimmy introducing the young lad’s face to a wall. Repeatedly.
- Dirty Dave snogging a bag lady on Talbot Street
- Stinking Pete punching a police horse in the face and running off before they could come after him
- Lucky Luciano walking past a hotel door, waving at the bloke on the front desk (it was 5am) then pressing his buttocks up against the glass and showing his Italian brown-eye
- A Polish taxi driver called Damien who, under repeated question from Dirty Dave who insisted on excitedly calling him ‘Cabbie’ and putting his hand up like he was in school every time he asked a question, decided he’d rather fuck Sharon Osbourne than Kelly Osbourne.
- Jimmy the Bollix doing his impression of the Jedi mind trick – “These are not the droids you’re lucking for” – in a place where we stopped to get chicken and jalepeno pepper sandwiches. “We have already paid for these sandwiches”, he said. They said “Ok” and off we went without paying.
- Walking into a packed bar on Camden Street only for a table to become free just as we got to it. We took this as a sign that we needed to drink lots of drinks there.
- Not being able, some time early on Sunday morning, to block out all the light from outside as we sat in Jimmy’s sitting room drinking Jamesons and smoking Cohibas. Light at that stage was scary and bad.
- Sitting looking at a plate with food piled as high as Everest on Sunday afternoon in a carvery somewhere and not being able to eat any of it.
There were some low-lights too but thankfully I’ve managed to block them out. Apart from that incident on Chatham Street when *I SAID I’VE BLOCK THEM OUT. LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA….*
Glad to hear it was a quiet and tame Paddy’s Day night then, twenty. Good there was no mischief involved. You and your chums seem like veritable saints
Guess everyone has a hangover!
Jaiysus. This place is like a morgue. Yer can’t all be hungover you useless good for nothing work skiving drunkards!
It’s a fucking bank holiday, Sid. Shhhhhh.
I’m at work today…
Needed the whole Sunday to recover. Only thing I know was that we went to see the parade. After that it’s a blur
“a fucking bank holiday”. Jaiysus, we just have bank holidays for patron saints or someat. Not for fucking. You lucky drunken fornicating bastards!
You lads are a bunch of party animals. I have figured out where Ron’s pub is. It’s the pub on the corner of Ameins St. , across from the station. I’ll be in soon wearing a trenchcoat hoping to get proof positive.
Sounds like a good night then?
no bloody bank holiday for me!!! I am stuck in Turkey and I can’t believe they don’t celebrate St. Patricks day here. I mean, what is that about?
Over here in the NY area we had four or five inches of sleet come down between Friday and Saturday morning. Ice covered everything, but the St. Patrick’s Day Parade went on as usual. It’s more reliable than the mail. But then, what aint! The Fucking cold was a good excuse to step into the warm gin mills to enjoy the liquid joy passing over the bars, the lips, the teeth and the tongue on its way to the bladder which when released caused the Hudson to rise a foot or two before the night ended. I think that I might have remembered some of Sunday. I’m not sure. Now for the Easter load. Yeah!
Are you blocking out – snogging Dirty Dave?
Keep up that lark and you’ll end up like me without two braincells to rub together and searching under the cushions for the false teeth.
the sndwich thingy is a handy aul trick tho fer drunkburgers
The only thing I find under the cushions is loose change. Never any teeth. Yet. Thankfully. Well, not my teeth.
Glad to hear St Patricks day went as planned for someone.
Dear Twenty, I think this whole St. Paddy’s celebration is fairly silly. Especially as it sneakily falls on my birthday every damn year. Combine two such silly events together…and…well, I am still recovering today. AND I did not even have a bank holiday, like you Irish drunkards, to use to recover. If you could chat to your people about changing its date, maybe that would help. Thanks! From a momentarily-slow, sunglassed, inexplicably-bruised name-lost-in-a-corner-of-some-forgotten-pub South African.