51) Bowe's of Fleet Street, D2

A small spot at the back of the more raucous and obnoxious Doyle's, popular especially with theatrical folk, among them Colm Hackett of TCD, a hard-bitten rough diamond of a behind-the-scenes technician who bears a disquieting resemblance to the late Klaus Kinski (he gave every impression of hating the students whose productions he lit, and would only be appeased if one gave him a nice free cigarette to smoke - Hackett, that is, not Kinski - there was no appeasing that particular incestuous and adulterate beast). This is one of the few genuine Victorian pubs of Dublin. A bold clock ticks on high outside, while inside boasts a beautiful authentic snug (a later addition) which is fully private and connected to the bar. Hundreds of whiskey bottles invade the shelves.

Klaus Kinski - one thinks of Colm Hackett, does one not?

A large and wordy sign looms over all in the bar which boldly states the following: ‘This bar is dedicated to those merry souls who make drinking a pleasure, who reach contentment before capacity, and what so ever they drink, can hold it and remain gentlemen.’ As luck would have it, Andrew Stephens, being the first customer of the day, once witnessed a wretched tourist puking all over the freshly mopped floor – he had been previously enjoying the Guinness Brewery too much.

Traditional music sessions have been hijacked by the especially arrogant uilleann piper from Kíla, Eoin Dillon. This insufferable person (prone to not giving a fuck about fans) ought to move aside and let some new talent come through instead of having his ego milked week on week. One who needs such attention usually tends to be compensating for something inferior…

Arrogant uilleann piper, Eoin Dillon

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