Friday, January 30, 2015
Such an event transpired just this week, when I boasted- on this blog, no less- about my plans to go to Durty Nelly's, an old Irish pub in an old Irish town. It was all but a given that I would soon be strolling into a 400 year old bar and an old guy would be singing "Danny Boy", much to the delight of a dozen or so other old men. I would be there, nodding politely, straining to figure out what the garbled sounds- some would call them words- coming out of the bartender's mouth signified.
We landed in Shannon, Ireland, a little late, but still within peak pub hours. We got off the plane and I began to head towards the usual hotel, the one right by the bus stop that would take me to Bunratty Castle, Nelly's more dignified neighbor. No one followed.