If the music is too loud, you're too old.

We’re locked and loaded. Drip fed and bloated.

The Theory : No matter who you are, no matter how many times your have been struck by the unfortunate tree, It is a guaranteed, cold hard fact… If you can’t score in Coppers, you just can’t score.

The Verdict : TRUE. I will admit, I have been pretty skeptical about the above statement for some time, seeing it as an exaggeration. However, my experiences of Sunday night left me enlightened. In a vain attempt to find my friends, I walked into the toilets in the hope of seeing them at the mirrors. No such luck. In my bid to find them however I did over hear a conversation or two… One which went like this…

“Ah no but like he is kind of hot like..”

“Babes, let’s be real here. He’s fucking wrecked.”

Ah yeah whatever like, I’m locked. He’ll do.”

This, in itself was confirmation enough. The ironic part being she wasn’t the most attractive button in the box herself… lord knows what kind of shirt he was sown on to.

I stood at the entrance to the smoking here and sent the ‘I’m standing here..’ text in the hope of finding them. You really can only look busy texting someone for a short length of time… Now, not that I’m unsociable, believe me, I’m not… But I do try and avoid idle chit chat with drunk culchies. Not because I don’t like people from the country. No no… Because the conversation Will generally comprise of..
“Howaya…. you look a bit lost there luv… where ya from…. Oh Dublin… whereabouts… (As if they’d have a fucking breeze where Drumcondra was if there tractor servicing depended on it..).. ah yeah I know it well… So are ya having a good night?”

Does it look like I’m having a good night? I’m standing here on my tobler… talking to you! Now, it’s not just culchies… Dubliners hardly whip you into a verbal frenzy either. But at least they can, on occasion, make sense. But as I finally avoided witty banter with Cork man #3, I observed for the best part of about 20mins…

Picture groups of lads, standing around.. As a respectable looking girl walks past, they will all look at each other, confirming she’s acceptable… if she gets the nod, they will start chatting. It literally is a cattle market. But unlike most nightclubs, the good lookin prey will stick with the familiar while the not so fresh mingle with each other in the hope of making a sale.

By the time I was leaving, I had had enough of drunken fuck withs pushing me out of the way and talking a load of bollix. I was walking out… I had JUST reached the stairs and Journey came on. I was so close… I then had to attempt to filter through the bad singing and arm swinging. At one point I got stuck behind a girl and guy who are doing the bullshit talk before they were going to score. It was his next line that sealed the deal…

“yeah, I wrote this song ya know”


And Bam he was in…

I just shook my head and left.

There is hope for us all yet.


1 Comment»

  Lyndsay wrote @

Ahaha! Brilliant.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: