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| IN HOSTEL WATERS Last weekend was spent in Doolin, co. Clare. In a bloody hostel with Dan, Des and Suggs. For those of you that dont know where that is, it's on the west coast of Ireland, right at the cliffs of Moher. The weather was absolutely crap; I think it stopped raining for about an hour all weekend. Still, it doesnt rain in pubs, so after signing into the hostel under the moniker of 'Charles Murphy' we were on our way. That is to say, nearly on our way: when asking about the price of the hostel, suggs asks the woman behind the counter "whats the damage?!" as only suggs can. Needless to say she was unacquainted with suggs' brand of Dublin lingo. We explained that all it meant was 'whats the price' and headed up to the room, which had 3 bunk beds and a single bed. A room to ourselves! Or so we thought... Following a quick shower, shit and shave it was down to the pub. Unfortunately, the pub wasn't as empty as our room and it took us a good hour to grab seats. Then the games of cards and then drunkenness. While dan and myself were at the bar and des in the toilet, suggs must have had a lapse in the old memory, for when we all got back, our seats were gone. At this stage it didn't matter though, because dan and myself were out of it. Next thing we know there's a group of youngfellas from Swords in Dublin sitting at our table, followed by an old drunk man followed by a guy from Seattle! A furious singsong erupts as suggs lets rip with that mouth of his and sings till he's red in the face. des sit's in awe, not knowing what to say and dan and myself take it to the bar and down some b-52's and aftershock, then start on the red bull and vodka doubles..... Leaving the pub at last and we make it back to the hostel in one piece, burst into the room and stare at the bunk in front of us. Could it be another person in our room? dan decides the best way to solve this question is to go over and punch the quilt. Thankfully, he doesn't. des has a peek and confirms that there is a bloke in our room! Oh well, thats not going to stop us making a racket! That is of course, until he wakes up with the noise and let's a roar at us to "SHUT THE F*** UP!"... We do. Next morning it's off to some pub to get a breakfast. On the way dan reminds suggs that he (suggs) usually pukes when driving after a night out. Then, as if by magic, suggs' mouth fills up with lung butter. Panic stations! I'm in the passenger seat of a car going about 40 down a country road with the driver about to puke! suggs puts his foot on the brake but the car wont stop fast enough, he looks at me with a face like an overfull water-balloon and with out even thinking I grab the handbrake and reef it up. The car slides to a halt, the door flies open and the torrent of vomit paints the road like power hose. When we got to the pub, we had a huge breakfast, played some pool and arcades then they all paid for their food with me, like a modern day Ned Kelly "forgetting" to pay. Back to the hostel, back to the pub. After a few pints in the pub dan and me decided to go to a club. Believe me, when I say 'club' I mean a room with more smoke than Phillip j Reynolds personal smoking room filled with inbred culchies dancing to some keyboard demo button they got for Christmas back in '87. It was brutal! Any place that only has plastic pint glasses has to be bad and this place was no exception. After many vodkas and red bulls, dan and me decided to cut the place loose. We got a taxi back to the hostel and learning from our mistake the night before, went to bed quietly. Waking up the next morning at ten thirty having over slept the checkout time by half an hour was not good but sobered up quickly enough to walk to the car. Then began our uneventful drive home. And thats all! Check out the photos on photo page 2 for a visual aid to this story. |
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I'M NOT FROM CORK! |
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