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Finnegan's Fake

I’m back. Pretend you missed me. After more than 12 months of domestication, both in borders and in home life, sendmoneyplease is back across the Atlantic. This time, he brings with him postcardsonthefridge, better known as Chris. She promises not to bowdlerize the whit contained herein. Hopefully you won’t find the adventures more muted – if anything, now I’ll have a trusty ally to chronicle my misadventures. Also, she’ll give a good insight on foods she eats, foods locals eat, and foods of doubtable origination.

The plan is Dublin, Edinburgh, and a whole bouquet of France.

In the land of Beckett and Wilde, our first jaunt focused on the characters and haunts of James Joyce. During the consumption of each drink, we composed poems, and I now present mine to you. For a look at Chris’s pub-born pose, make sure to visit www.postcardsonthefridge.com.  If a limerick is a gimmick, then our ramble was a gamble. You may revile out style, but we live for the reader, sitting in our two-seater.

"The Gresham"

Time: 7:40

Order: Tullamore's Dew

Drinkers in Dublin have an exorbitant choice

We choose to follow the great James Joyce

                The pubs are mapped out

                In that there's no doubt

Tonight may Guinness be our voice

 

"The Wynn"

Time: 8:15

Order: Guinness

After the pour, I watch the head rise

Knowing my own head will be compromised

                The beer's name is Stout

                Which way on the roundabout?

She orders another, I say, 'Likewise'

 

"Mulligan's"

Time: 9:15

Order: Smithwick's

As I elbow the 18th-century expanse

The barstool eases my stance

                The suds give a chuckle

                I loosen my buckle

And prepare for a tipsy Riverdance

"Davy Byrne's"

Time: 11:05

Order: Guinness

Closing-time voices fill the room

And the morning eye-open surely brings doom

                As we lose steam

                I lapse to a dream

Picturing Leopold Bloom

"International Bar"

Time: 11:35

Order: Jameson's

The tour closes amongst the sinners

Staggering, slanting, still bipedal winners

                Though we know it is risky

                The beer’s turned to whisky

Ich bin ein Dubliner


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