387) The Inn of Main Street, Donaghmede, Raheny, D5
What a name! THE Inn - it’s no small claim. Located right opposite the ancient ruin of St. Assam’s Church and right beside a Ladbrokes, which very much sets the tone and the principal occupation prevailing within. A dead and empty lounge (at the time of our early weekday visit) versus a populous but quiet bar, conversation polite and muffled. ‘The Live Lounge’ will play host to music at busier times. A proud Beamish bonding at €4.90. Lots of betting going on, with at least 6-7 TVs all showing the racing, but at a mercifully low volume. A peculiar confession booth-cum-vestibule-cum tram precedes the entry to the otherwise normal male jacks, which, like the female, boasts red and green traffic lights to let one know if they’re occupied or not - a Covid-era innovation that has stuck. A high shelf holds numerous golfing trinkets (the other craze besides the betting, reflected in the bulk of the pictures on the wall) as well as a broken-down old TV. Barman John was amiable enough. There’s many a coat on the rack, reflective of the many who have come here to put in a hard day’s work at the office-cum-counter.
A weird separate room, detached from the main body of the bar, is occupied by just one man who commandeers a whole separate television to himself (showing what? Mass?). One lad at the counter said ‘Begob’. Nice old carpet on the floor. Little natural light. Good Beamish - we were compelled to stay for two. And in the act of ordering our second, Sam Coll made a right fool of himself like an awful fucking gobshite, and nearly took an old lad’s freshly poured Guinness off him, in the belief that it was Beamish poured into the wrong glass - this on account of the slowness of barman john. Says one regular: ‘He’s a very forgetful barman.’ As Sam sat back down, as puce as a prolapse, he said, out of unbecoming embarrassment, ‘we have to get out of here!’ And we did.
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