What doesn’t kill you, only makes you stronger
Posted on August 28, 2006
Filed Under Glasgow, Outside Ireland, Sport, architecture, characters, pub, stupidity, women, work |
Dublin have lost the semi-final to Mayo. I can’t say that I’m sad. Or happy, for that matter. GAA football is a pretty stupid game, full of thuggish violence, but devoid of any skill. isadub hates to admit it but the Dub fans are an annoying bunch at the best of times. Maybe I’d feel different if I had a moustache or my name was Micko, or Caffo?
Anyway, like I wrote earlier, I went to Glasgow on Friday to get drunk. And, errh, I did. Here’s some photos. Apologies for the quality of the pictures but, as the night progressed, I ‘forgot‘ how the camera worked and ended up just pointing it at things and pressing the button.
My Scottish equivalent has left the company and I went over for the going away party. Two of the (female) candidates for his job were there and for some reason, they thought I had some influence in the decision. Their friendly hands on (my) knees and whispered confidences breathed into my ear were slightly disconcerting. I guess they do things in Scotland. I was going to write, ‘I guess they do things differently in Scotland‘ but the first sentence may be more accurate? I certainly didn’t test that hypothesis! On the way back to the party in Stirling, there was one female and several males (including her boyfriend) in the car. The general chit-chat/banter was very misogynistic and derogatory. I didn’t get involved but it’s left me with an awkward, ethical dilemma. The female, outwardly at least, seemed to be quite comfortable and indeed, gave as good as she got. I wonder if she’ll have the same sorts of conversation in 10 years time? As a (sort-of) officer of the company, do I take it further? It was Friday night and the males were not company employees. Do I give her some quiet, un-official advice? Our M.D. is female and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have these types of conversations with her C.F.O. Or do I do nothing? Hmmm.
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Does anyone drink sambuca out of choice? What happens to rational people when they get together in groups. Some sort of hive-mind develops and soon everyone is chanting sambuca, sambuca, sambuca like some sort of chant to compel the God of Sambuca to appear. Well, on Friday, it worked! We drank some sambuca, and then we drank some more. It took a little while to find someone with a lighter as Scotland, like Ireland, has banned smoking in enclosed places. During my sober hour, I even a ‘no smoking’ sticker on a bus shelter! Now people either don’t smoke or don’t bring their cigarettes with them. We did get to set the drinks on fire but did we break the law? Two ethical dimemma’s in one night. Hmmm.
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Say hello to Mary. No. Wait. First of all, I’d like to point out that I’m not married so the rings in the photos are not mine. And, anyway, it would take at least three drinks to corrupt me! Mary is a real Glaswegian. And she works for Scottish and Newcastle. She works for Scottish and Newcastle. I said, she works for Scottish and Newcastle. She got drunk, a bit repetitive, and a bit aggressive, as is the wont of Glaswegians. She took off her rings before she drank the flaming sambuca’s. She burned her hand when she lit her drink. In other words, she’s either psychic or she has form with self-immolation & alcohol.
For reasons too silly to go into here, a swizzle stick that lit up when you banged it off the table became a pregnancy tester. And if it lit up, you were pregnant! Q.E.D. By the time the toy made it to the end of the table, it wouldn’t work. The last guy was very relieved not to be pregnant! However, this was all the proof that Mary needed. Up she jumped, and in her loudest Glaswegian voice, shouted, ‘I knew it, you’re important. You’re f**king important’. Satisfied that she’d exposed the guy as impotent, she sat down. We made our excuses and left.
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Due to the size of our group, we had to make loads of compromises on the pub/clubs we went to. They were the safe, middle-of-the-road pubs with generic music and, horror of horrors, no 80-shilling. The photo on the left is from the Colosseum. Just like so many pubs in Dublin, it’s a former bank that has been converted to a pub. They haven’t done a great job with the conversion. They left all the original features but the lighting was terrible. And the DJ, and with what sounded like 2 speakers, were stuck in one corner. The photo on the right should have been better. The barwoman had tied her hair up and it spilled over like some sort of female peacock. When I ’saw’ the photo, I thought it was sooo Blade Runner-ish but all I could do was point the camera and click (sigh).
The Glasgow part of the night finished in Artz (?). It was very odd. It’s a place where people, especially middle-aged people, go to meet other people. For me, the highlight was watching a middle-aged woman with a tight perm sit down, take off her dancing shoes and rest her aching feet on a chair. She really looked like an extra from Coronation Street. Both of her big toes were painted bright red whilst her other 8 pinkies were as naked as the day they were born. What do I know, it’s probably all the rage in fashion circles. Maybe she got the fashion tip from Woman’s Weekly magazine. I knew one of us was in the wrong place when she had to use her reading glasses to check for text messages on her mobile phone.
P.S. I stayed in, or rather my suitcase did, The Terraces Hotel in Stirling. I’d recommend it. The showers worked and the duty manager, Teresa, was very pleasant.
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Mark Vaughan’s jaw was broken by a Mayo fan in an apparently unprovoked attack. It happened in Copperface Jacks (where else!) on Sunday night. At least, there were plenty of nurses around!
A rumour also went around that Jason Sherlock was attacked in Cassidy’s pub on Camden St the same night.