Of all the bars …
By Primal Sneeze ~ July 1st, 2009. Filed under: Kildare, Local, Pubs.
Of all the bars in all the world I go to one in particular. The reason is simple – the world is too far away – this bar is nearby. A local local we call Grandad’s. See bar staff are like grandparents – they get lonely and it’s your duty visit them now and again.
There is one other close by but the drink in it should carry a boil notice. Warm, putrid swill. Yet, it has a loyal clientèle. I guess warm, putrid swill is an acquired taste.
So you can imagine my horror when I heard Grandad’s was to close for renovations. I was gutted it was to be gutted.
What were they going to do? Would it become one of those super pubs devoid of character? Would all the memories be erased? Would all the lack of memories be erased?
Complain as we would we regulars had become attached to the little quirks. The door that couldn’t be closed properly. The double light fitting that only ever had one bulb. The radio that crackled. The TV that turned itself on from standby. The ringboard with the 10 hook missing. The floral print bedside lamp that was brought out when someone complained the lighting was poor.
It turns out our fears were unfounded. The new look Grandad’s is impressive. Best of all it has a whole new set of quirks. A door on, not in, a wall that leads nowhere. Lights cluttered in one spot so readers huddle in a tight group. A maze of hallways and doors – a trail of breadcrumbs is advisable.
And of course the same grumpy owner. Passers by dropping in to use the facilities are always curious when asked for their address. And shocked at the response – So the next time I’m passing your house I’ll drop in for a shite too.
They would have been even more shocked on Saturday gone. Luckily Saturday’s band of passers by were rough and tumble (mostly grey haired) AC/DC fans who whipped out camera phones on seeing the facilities.
Click to biggilize
ROFLOL!
What about the pints?
The pints are grand. That’s all that matter really
*speechless*
xoxoxo
I was too!
Ha ha, brilliant!
I could turn stories of this pub into a series.
The owner sure has some crappy handwriting.
Boom! Tish!
love it! Question is, did everyone still know your name after the reopening?
Sure thing, Mr. Peterson.
In a fit of pique, would never have excepted a double light fitting with two bulbs.
Also, asking for the adress of those people caught short is either inspired or wicked, or both.
And would have stormed out in disgust
Storming out in disgust isn’t quite the same when your butt cheeks are clenched.
Please tell me that sign is a joke! I guess it’s not, though – all so typically British somehow!
No, not a joke.
Typically British. Really? And I was of the opinion it could only happen in Ireland.
Oh f*ck. Forgot you were in Ireland! Typically East of America and West of the Le Continent, then!
East of America and West of the Le Continent.
Now that I like.
Wo-be-tide the poor lad in a wheelchair when he goes to relieve himself
Are you asleep or what Primal?
Time to come out of the pub and back to the computer?
Are you still looking for the place to do no. 3s?
sssshhhhhh! never mind – go back to sleep {tip toes out}
so? where are y’all at, sugar? xoxox
*knocks*
*waits*
*knocks a bit louder*
*peers in the kitchen window*
*shrugs and goes off to pub*
which pub is it?
Oh man,Sneezy, I’m wheezy with laughing at that. I’d pay to pee in that place.