It's a sad day in the parish. The local pub that I have frequented since my ascendance into adulthood has closed its doors for the last time. The reason is that the pub trade is not what it used to be in Ireland. It is survival of the fittest at the moment in the drinks industry in Ireland and some pubs with heart and soul are just not making enough to survive. The owner is retiring having been in town for 51 years. 51 years ago my father ventured in there on its opening night and has stayed there ever since. He only frequents there twice a week. Mon-Thursday and Friday- Sunday. I had my 18th, 21st, 30th in that pub and it never disappointed. The old guys that are there daily are all a bunch of characters with some major screws loose but everyone always had a laugh in there.
the fake poo
Once of my favorite memories was when Chawke (the owner) had a dog called Toby who used to wonder around the pub getting a rub off everyone that came in. He was a good boy and never was any trouble. One day one of the clientele brought back a fake poo from holidays. It was the most realistic fake poo I have ever had the pleasure to set my eyes on. Pretzel like and small. The guy laid it down in the pub in full view.
Chawke was watching past and saw the little present on the ground. He called Toby and gave him a kick up the arse. He went to get a dustpan and brush and soon realized that the poo was indeed fake. The whole pub fell around laughing.
To get his own back on Bernard the fake shit purchaser, Chawke had a plan. Bernard used to buy fresh fish down the local fish mongers every Friday. He knew this because he used to stop for a couple of drinks on the way home while the fish was in a plastic bag beside him and there was a waft off it that would knock a horse. So as soon as Bernard went to the toilet, Chawke sprung into action. He grabbed the plastic bag. Took fishy out and drop kicked him (the fish looked like a him) out the door of the pub.
He then went behind the bar and took the singing fish on a plaque down off the wall. He placed it in the plastic bag and sat back down on his seat without a car in the world.
Meanwhile the real fish was after getting smashed to pieces by the traffic outside. Bernard walked out, finished his drink and took the plastic bag. The whole pub were sniggering. When he left the bell rung and a loud Waheyyy went up. This was not the end of it. An hour later the door slammed open.
WHERE'S MY FUCKING FISH?????
What are you talking about Bernard?
You left with the fish
WHERES MY FUCKING FISH? he said again angrily.
He made a sprint for the Easter Hamper that was a prize in a raffle. He started lighting the straw with a lighter. The Easter Egg went up like a bonfire and it he left it go because of the heat. Chawke went and got a fire extinguisher and promptly put out the fireball. Bernard then started throwing melted chocolate around the pub which was a nice little snack for all the rest of us. Everyone was laughing. Chawke put 200 quid into the raffle to make up for the loss of the egg. In tears laughing. Those were some great times in that pub. I will really miss it.