“I see the old Spawell has closed down”, said Dirty Dave, referring to a high quality leisure and bar complex in the Dublin suburbs and not a deep hole in the earth from which mentalers can be brought to the surface in a bucket.
“Is that right?”, I said.
“It is. I think the raid which took place there the other week, in which over €20,000 of cash was taken, might just have been the undoing of them. I heard they ran out of beer”.
“That is an unfortunate coincidence though, isn’t it? The leaseholders go bankrupt just a short period after a large quantity of cash is stolen”.
“It is unfortunate. Hey Twenty, do you remember the time we went to play pitch and putt there?”
“How could I forget?”
“Yeah, Jimmy hit me right in the face with a golf club. I know he said to watch out and not stand behind him but who knew you needed forty-six backswings to make contact”.
“With the ball?”
“No, with my face. Oh God, the blood. It was everywhere”.
“It sure was”.
“You guys were so good to me that day”.
“It was nothing, man, honest”.
“The way you dragged me off the second hole, where it happened, left me unconscious in the bushes then came back for me the next day … I … I still get emotional”.
“A good memory indeed”.
“I remember having it off with Imelda Grogan up there too. Right beside the 200 yard marker on the driving range. The moon was full, the nighttime air still and warm, the – ”
“It was half past two in the afternoon and you ended up with a golf ball up your chute. Do you not remember the months of recovery, the bowel and intestine surgeries, the exquisite agony of pooing?”
“I sure do”.
“And?”
“Fair play to that golfer. He got my hole in one”.
“I hate you”.
Ha, decent start to the day.
mmmmmmm,imelda grogan.
who is she ?
everyone knows imelda,well if your from a certain neck of the woods you wood.
Not a lot of help there Jon – Google failed apart from mentioning an Imelda Grogan of Graiguepottle who is involved with sheep but it’s best we stay away from that whole wooly thing.
not a deep hole in the earth from which mentalers can be brought to the surface in a bucket
I was going to ask whether you were there,cause the time I was there one Saturday night the description above is painstakingly accurate..
It had all the fun party atmosphere of the Queue for the Ryanair flight to Riga.. A truly dour experience..Good fucking riddance..obv feel sorry for the people working there but still..
Of course, the robbery just before the place closed down was purely coincidental.
Jesus,its like Friday here today,what tha fuck??
Did you ever gig there, Fill?
Eh,no..i never had the pleasure..in fairness when i went there ,there was no pleasure to be found and Lord knows i looked for some..
Unless you found pleasure in being stared at by a testosderone/coke fuelled knacker coz my gaze may have momentarily passed over the sqeeling tramp he had decided to copulate with that evening….in that case it was as Frankie Goes to Hollywood said-”Welcome to Pleasuredome”
*squeeling
The nightclub there was always as rough as a knacker’s cunt. I think someone actually got shot there some years back. Or at least stabbed in the face a few times.
That was the last minute entertainment one night when the band didnt show up…
“Here,Jonno..c’mere an i stab ye in the face a few times..Aslan never showed up and the lads minds are wandering..”
Christy would never let his public down like that!
Really shut? That’s mad, the Go-Kart track they had was a bit spacky.
Yeah, shut as a fool. If I was them I’d get rid of the pitch and putt, lash in a load of 5-a-side pitches and rake it in. You’d make a fortune.