The thing about catching some traditional Irish ambience on a night out in Dublin is 
that you fucking well can't. Being only a short plane ride from most of the UK, Dublin 
consequently spends its Saturdays and Sundays utterly heaving with drunken Brits 
on stag weekends, hen weekends and just general, random, pissed-up weekends.

And don't let me be the one to cast the first stone here. I've just arrived back from a four-day sojourn in The
Emerald Isle where the following detailed and complex plan was implemented to the letter: Drink Guinness my
son, and don't stop while you still have motor neurone control.

Now there is a weird thing about Dublin - even those people who wouldn't usually touch The Black Stuff with a
barge pole seem intent on drinking the city dry of its Guinness supply practically as soon as the plane's
touched down. The rest of their lives can then comfortably be spent annoying everyone else by harping on
about how "it tastes so much better over there". Again, I'd have to plead guilty on that one too.

The alcoholic epicentre of Dublin is a district called Temple Bar, rumoured to be named after the city's
historical associations with the Knights Templar. This is, of course, absolute bollocks. However, if Dan "Da
Vinci Code" Brown had found it out I'm sure he would have devoted another forty seven chapters of his
hack-written novel to precisely that theme; an art historian's desperate quest to seek out ancient clues hidden
in old Irish pub toilets, pursued by a seven-foot albino monk.  

Actually, that sounds like it might be worth reading.

In no particular order, then, here are the top five experiences you can expect from an evening in a Temple Bar boozer:

1) Fake Traditional Live Music

It is singularly impossible to remain in one of the city centre pubs for more than twenty minutes without
the house band playing Dirty Old Town, Whiskey In The Jar, The Irish Rover or something by The
Pogues that you can't quite put a name to. And, incidentally, I'm pretty sure it gets on their tits. In one
pub, between songs the singer announced; "we've had a lot of requests for traditional Oirish songs, so
there must be some English people here, 'cause we can't stand the feckers". 

2) No Smoking

Yes, you read that right. A carefully worded piece of legislation in the Republic has made it illegal to smoke in any building where people are employed. Pubs, of course, are buildings where people are employed. Unless you've been into a Wetherspoon's over here recently, it's hard to imagine what a smoke-free pub feels like. If you're a smoker, it feels like the realisation of your worst Orwellian nightmare as you cluster in a shivering mass just outside the front door. Non-smokers, naturally, can relax into a warm, fuzzy mood of socially superior smugness.

3) English People

Remember what I told you about the weekend drinkers? Try going up to three Temple Bar punters at random and striking 
up a conversation; maybe one of them will be Irish. Maybe.

4) Standing Room Only

See 3.

5) People Wearing Guinness And Shamrock Hats

See 3. (Wankers)


Okay, so the moral of the story is: don't spend your whole time in Dublin pissing it up against a wall in Temple Bar. There are plenty of other places in the city where one can most adequately piss it up against a wall. 

I do have vague recollections of being shepherded by my drinking cohorts on to a noodle bar, of all things. For ages, I just thought I'd dreamt that bit. However, more recent research reveals that it actually happened. It was a restaurant by the name of Wagamama and they served hot sake. I think they may also have served food. Can't really remember what it was.  Somehow I don't feel my career as a restaurant critic is really taking off here. Let's get back to the boozing.

Two of Dublin's most notable attractions are the Old Jameson Distillery and the Guinness Brewery. I
didn't venture to the former on my travels, for the simple reason that whiskey tastes like the Devil's urine
during a bout of cystitis. The birthplace of Liffey Water, however, is certainly worth a visit. Prepare
yourself for it to feel a bit museumy, but it does end up with a complementary pint in the greatest bar in
Ireland - a 360º viewing gallery perched right on top of the brewery. Pretty cool huh? And if you're
travelling with your girlfriend it does somehow feel as though you're making the vague effort to be a little
cultural. 

Which leads me most clumsily onto the only topic more interesting than booze: women! Dublin's most famous resident can be found preserved in bronze at the top of Grafton Street (which, by the way, is pedestrianised for shopping, if that's what 
rocks your boat). I refer, of course, to the fairest and prettiest of all 19th Century mussel-sellers, the divine 
Molly Malone, affectionately known by Dubliners as 'the tart with the cart' or  better still  'the dish with the fish'. 

For once, the unspoken rule that statues of women should be tastefully proportioned goes completely out the window. When an Irishman assembles the female form he seems to have no qualms at all about equipping the lady concerned with breasts the size of leprechauns (look, it's an article about Dublin, I had to mention them at some point). 

In fact, here is today's Top Travel Statistic That I've Made Up: 

Molly Malone has the highest bust-waist ratio of all statues in Europe.

That, my friends, is a complete fabrication, and you may feel free to quote it down the pub as absolute 
gospel. Bluff, inappropriate, sexist nonsense about women. Ah, the essence of all alcoholism! 
TRAVEL
with Dick Holder
Home Defence UK
A Symptom of a Greater Malaise
TRAVEL DRINKING II: DUBLIN
ALL TRAVEL:

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