The Black Stuff

I really don't want to be one of those wankers that jumps onboard the cliched bandwagon and fires off all the well known cylinders of yawn but I don't really have a choice. Guinness really does taste better in Dublin. I've tried it in many places including other parts of Ireland, Northern Ireland, various parts of the globe, the back of a car, on top of Alexandra Palace and out of a can. I have, despite levels of drunkness, always thought it tasted like someone had ruined some double cream. Then, yesterday, as I got off the coach at Trinity College, Keith appeared and frog marched straight to the pub where I had a pint of the black stuff and thoroughly enjoyed it. Every last drop. Maybe, just maybe, its because I'm now 30. Maybe my taste buds have just given up and decided that I'm allowed to like Guinness, in the same way a few years back I started to indulge in blue cheese despite previously assuming it came from someone's fungal infection and tasting as such. Or, it could be, that the rumours be true and it does just taste better here. I'm not going to take any chances and will continue to drink it in Dublin to make sure it wasn't just a one off.

Despite having done several travels, I'd never been to the fair city before and I have to say I'm a big fan. I haven't seen lots of it yet, mostly only Keith and Ginny's very lovely flat, and two proper pubs, but that is enough to win me over. Keith and Ginny's flat is properly lovely with their suitable hostile cat Paris who firstly stared at me like she wanted my head to explode and has now taken to only using that stare when I stop stroking her. Fickle creatures them cats. And the pubs, well they were proper ones they were. You forget just how brilliant real pubs are living in London where everyone has been gutted and made Gastro or whatever the type where all taste, class and general atmosphere has been ripped from the walls in place of crap music, shiny surfaces and the sort of clientele that could make the Taj Mahal seem grotty if they were visiting. Real ones though, like the two we went in yesterday, including one, McDaid's, that is just a room and is featured in Constantine, have everything you want. Quiet, with good beer, friendly staff and mahogany wood everywhere so it feels as though you're sitting in a bit of Hogwarts. Old books and pictures on the walls and vintage whiskies in cabinets. What more could you want? Very little. I could pretty much live in a place like that. Sure the landlord's would get annoyed, but I'd be very happy tucked under a barstool for a few weeks.

Today is about seeing more of the city. Well actually, I say that, but there is a retro computer game exhibition on in town and me and Keith fully intend to play on as many of the old school consoles as possible, aiming for sheer square eyes to the extent we would only be able to wear stupid Kanye West glasses to cover them. Then Guinness. Lots and lots of Guinness. Bloody love Dublin.