Supposedly the luminous likes of James Joyce (according to Mac Maloney), Richard Harris and Stephen Rea have drunk here at one time or another. A heavily populated collage/frieze of faces on the wall commemorates this fact. As pubs go, there’s a large enough library available at the back of the bar which includes a skylight and an open fire for the winter. A newspaper is thoughtfully provided for the solitary drinker by anxious staff concerned for his welfare. Fine but forgettable.

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