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The first couple of pints of Guinness go straight to my head. A few more pints later and I'll feel clearer-headed (albeit inebriated). This I can say for a fact because I reached The Brazen Head on the outside of one pint of the black stuff already rather merry. One pint later and I was even merrier.
The Brazen Head claims to be the oldest pub in Ireland. Judging by the decor, this may well be true. However, it is a great place to drink. Indeed, it's one of the few places we remembered clearly from our first visit to Dublin. Incidentally, my other half and I had probably taken a significant step in our relationship when we first visited Dublin in November 1995. Circumstances overtook the intended purpose of the trip - a "rag raid" on the city and we bonded in a way that eclipsed the effort of collecting for charity. Soon after that visit, we decided to be in a relationship together. Revisiting the scene of the crime, as it were, was one of the benefits of returning to Dublin. As we entered the Brazen Head bar, we spotted the table we had occupied some six and a half years previously with a friend of mine, who we'd hijacked to join the trip. Tonight, the table in question was in use and so we had to choose one that was nearby and get started on the first pint.
Of course, Guinness does not pour quickly, so I returned to the table empty handed and had started chatting to Caroline about the events of the day by the time the landlord brought the drinks over. Talking is thirsty work and the landlord was soon required to make another trip in our direction. Our conversation soon turned away from the disappointment of the badly documented opening hours of the Guinness brewery and across to the comical subjects of "Blackpool" and "did you notice the trouble I had with those revolving doors?". Caroline's admission that she'd witnessed the revolving door incident, coupled with my realisation of how silly I must have looked set me off into a fit of the giggles.
When I regained myself, Caroline told me that I'd managed to attracted the attention of other patrons in the place, especially the two men, sitting at the table which had been ours during our previous visit to this pub. I turned to look and was told that I had to explain was was so funny. I offered a version of the story which mentioned that it was a "swanky" hotel, but omitted to say which one - I knew the reaction that could provoke. I think I relayed enough of the comedy to make it clear that I'd been laughing out of genuine amusement, rather than through having some sort of mental condition...
...and, dear reader, it's at this point that my narrative suffers a break of about two years. Actually just a bit more than two years. On 17th May 2002, Caroline embarked on a journey back to Dublin to meet one of the men from the table. They'd been in touch from a few days after this incident. They're now married. Everything else I write from this point forward will be coloured by my knowledge of how this trip ends. However, I think it may be useful to try to finish the story and tell a little of its aftermath. I've been sitting on these notes for 2 years and they're mundane enough, so let's see what I can wring out of them as a prelude to what happened afterwards. I hope to complete this tale without rancour. At the end of the day, my website as a whole has become a catalogue of my life over the last few years and, in general, it shows a man who is on the up - doing many things, achieving ambitions and otherwise making the most of life. It's also a story of a man who's not found love, or even the next-best-thing since the time of these events. I'll put hindsight-related comments in italics to best delineate them from the rest of the text.
Anyway, back to the tale. We're back at the pub with the strangers who were sitting at the table I'd last sat at with Caroline in 1995. Whomsoever shall sit at this table shall win the lady's heart...
Having bonded with the men, let's call them Paul and George, for that is their names. They suggested that we all go to a proper Irish pub. Now, I had read Tony Hawkes' "Round Ireland With A Fridge" and I knew that I wanted some proper Irish hospitality. In addition, one of the men - George - had an Irish accent. Now I knew that it was a Northern Irish accent, and so was technically not the same sort of Irish that Mr Hawkes had been on about, but that didn't matter at the time. Three pints of Guinness can have a profound effect on one and I thought it was a great idea to go and drink with the locals. Checking with Caroline that this was to her satisfaction, which it proved to be, we headed off onto the street to grab a Taxi.
Memories of the taxi journey are scant. I learned that George is a man who saves money by putting the change from his nights out into a jar from which he pays his bills. I learned that we were getting on well and that we were going to meet some of their friends in the next pub - Mulligans.
Written: Partly April 2002, partly May 2004
Posted: 17 May 2004
Ashley Frieze