Friday night's alright for fighting.....
.....well, it's not really. But it happens. I'm a pussy so verbal war it is. Friday is our version of a cheap(ish) Saturday. Dublin's inflation on just about everything has made it near to impossible to enjoy yourself on less than 80 - 100euro on any 'wild' night out.
Price escalation has of course hit the city's drugs also. Cocaine is a very pricey and pointless drug. In Ireland it has sat on a very particular throne for far too long. It's the sad equivalent of snorting a line of cake crumbs. Weak, pathetic , probably cut with glass and might just contain enough power for you to sit through the first half of 'Pearl Harbour'. Might!
My mates buy it regularly, the drug itself virtually a pocket membership card into any sophisticated winery or social cage on Dublin's high streets. I just join in when it comes my direction you see. Our clubs here cater for the posh, exuding over-priced booze and pounding R'n'B; enough for any racer-boy to chill out to while the rest of us wince and grumble out in the beer gardens (remind me to write on our smoking ban another time). So poor students like myself hack it out in the cold drinking cans of 'Bavaria' (doesn't quite taste like 'Germanys finest'... strange that) and smoking anything. It is a real man's sport I tell you. There are dangers and risks involved naturally (clattering teeth in the cold has been known to result in chipping. One must be careful), but we know what we are doing. After my fill of some ten cans (not your grenade ones either I might add), we hit some lines (rubbish...) and a club called 'Howl at the Moon' where the bouncers checked my eyes on the way in. Ridiculous behaviour.
It's all la-de-da and expensive, adding yet another euro onto the already overpriced beer. Between the jigs and the reels, I got rooted out and my brew snatched due to some 'peculiar' antics in the toilets. Harsh words were exchanged and as it happens I was quickly joined by two of my associates (who, in a hilarious grab at opportunism, had tried to use the 'we're gay and just having a bit of fun' defense to the intervening bouncer in the bathroom. It didn't work but hey, anything to stop them searching your pockets right?)
My goodness it's late, where to now? A wine bar, that's where. Sounds like a bad idea doesn't it? And it is. I hate them. Always have but my friend insisted on finding his girlfriend so I acquiesced. It was packed full of awful, awful pretentious people, you know the type with their collars up and money dripping from real leather wallets. We left laughing though. A plain-clothes detective, doing a grand job at under-cover, had infiltrated the furtive ranks of richness and attempted to coax our hand into supplying her with anything. She was the lone older woman not drinking out back chewing an unlit cigarette, eyes like darts and a screwed up mouth.... Bless!
The Review of the Year of Things #1: Jason Lewis surveys the years' great albums and noting so many, compartmentalized, as men do. So, here, albums by those so profoundly impacted by Death