Myself and the Fake decided to hit town early yesterday. Since his marriage, his behaviour has been slightly erratic, although the fact that his wife is in the final straight of a PHD might explain some of it. He has been calling me at all hours (6.40am Saturday "Are you awake? Coffee?", 11 am last Sunday "Can I watch CNN in yours?". Anyway, yesterday was no different. Despite a flash drinking session in Slats the night before, I awoke to a 9am call, 10am text, 11 am repeat call, 11.30 text fest and 12pm 'lying in is a sign of depression man!!' voicemail', I finally responded with a groggy and nowhere near finished sleeping response of 'I'm single man, let me be..!'
Anyway, after the usual morning routine of a single man (underpants odour test, self-examination/pleasure, beef and black bean breakfast) I emerged blinking into something I have not seen in many a weekend, the early afternoon. Disturbingly Fakey standing outside my flat, with the look of a man who'd been there for quite a while.
Soon, after a game of dodge the pram on the Luas, we were standing in the green of St Stephen with a 'what now' look on our faces. My eyes wandered to every available woman's arse, his to the window of 'Stock'. I mouthed the word 'pints', whilst he checked the newly weds handbook. He recited rule 2.1: 'drinking during the day whilst your wife was strung out on PHD is forbidden' so we decided to do something else.
Minutes later we were knocking back stout in Grogans.
I don't blame him. It's nigh on impossible to do anything in this City without involving drink. We could go for coffee, but a number of weeks ago I went on a 5 hour coffee session and spent that night chanting and twitching in my bed, so I'm pretty reluctant to binge on it. And anyway, Cafes in Dublin City are like these hipster soup kitchens, full of nausea inducing fuckwits all cramming the pavement in an attempt to be seen. Yes, our kind of place, but difficult to get a seat. Sure we have some Museums and Galleries, but these can all be explored over a weekend if you so wish, and it's not something you're gonna do every week. Your chances of being raped are dramatically increased if you happen to be in a park, so that rules them out. Worse can occur in the Zoo. A lot worse.
The 'craic' excuse has long been redundant. craic, like crack, soon becomes something a lot more hardcore. There are no Big Wheels, no Trevi Fountains, no Eiffel Towers. There is simply nothing to do in Dublin.
And after our last pint in Slats later on that evening, we both agreed that at least it made things simple.
2 comments:
You haven't lived until you've been raped at the zoo...
I once went to the cinema and realised I'd seen every one of the twelve films that they were showing (including the ones that the weirdos go to wank to at the early bird show.)
We then walked next door to the wool shed for a drink. I felt like I wanted to kill myself.
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