Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year
Tripping Along The Ledge
flannery’s
Time? Time has no meaning here in the seventh circle of hell, where even despair dies…
Why do I despise Flannery’s on Camden Street? A full and candid response to that question would run to fill a 12-page pull-out supplement. Suffice to say: Drunk off-duty Gardai. Drunk off-duty nurses. Drunk off-duty Gardai copulating with drunk off-duty nurses. Fake tan. Peroxide. Rugby shirts. DJs with stupid mid-Atlantic accents who say things like “It’s Saturday night in Flannery’s and the paaarty is just getting staarted…” Read the rest of this article here.
“TIME HAS NO MEANING HERE IN THE SEVENTH CIRCLE OF HELL, A PLACE WHERE EVEN DESPAIR DIES…”
Why do I despise Flannery’s pub on Camden Street? A candid response to that question could fill a 12-page pull-out supplement. Suffice to say: Off-duty Gardai. Off-duty nurses. Drunk off-duty Gardai copulating with drunk off-duty nurses. Fake tan. Peroxide. Rugby shirts. DJs with mid-Atlantic accents who say things like “It’s Saturday night in Flannery’s and the party is just getting started…” Read the rest of this article here.
FLANNERY’S
Why do I despise Flannery’s pub on Camden Street? A candid response to that question could fill a 12-page pull-out supplement. Suffice to say: Drunk off-duty Gardai. Drunk off-duty nurses. Drunk off-duty Gardai copulating with drunk off-duty nurses. Fake tan. Peroxide. Rugby jerseys. DJs with mid-Atlantic accents who say things like “It’s Saturday night in Flannery’s and the paarty is just getting staarted…” Read the rest of this entry »