At the pub
Entering into a pub after work is like going from a world to another. Falling into spatio-temporal flaw and landing in a world where the time stops, where people smoke cigarettes to the filter (when there is a filter), where you build up your arm muscles in some elbow-bending contest with your fellows. There are several clans, those who like large-breasted blonds, some slimmer, the red-haired amateurs and those who like brunettes. In spite of this cultural mix, everyone lives in harmony… especially for the first couple of drinks! No clashes, people shout while watching the game, drink, chat about everything and nothing, then drink again, joke, then drink over and over again while minutes pass like a tape running in fast-forward. Still in a picturesque place, anywhere in the world, the pub is a place where you could imagine being right in Dublin, London or Glasgow is you close your eyes while you go out of it. The owner, a fifty year old guy nostalgic of his student years, always display his whisky reserve. Meanwhile, the night goes on, people are still talking as a lot of glasses are broken, and the boat pitches when you try to empty your big belly. Going at the pub feels so well that you could spend a whole night into it…
Thanks to the Conolly’s for welcoming us !
Photos by Fainst from Ziris