I cannot tell a lie.
Well, that’s actually a lie.
I can. But I don’t do it very well.
So it would be more accurate to say that I can tell a lie. But I can’t get away with it.
That picture, the one of me with the pint? It’s a lie.
We were driving around Achill Island during the summer – I’d highly recommend it, stunning place – and we passed this pub, Lynott’s.
A sign boasted that it was the smallest pub on the island.
So we said we’d stop on the way back.
And we did.
A really nice pub. Yes, very small – probably a tad larger than the Dawson Lounge but there wouldn’t be much in it.
In we went and ordered our drinks.
And I thought it would be nice to record the moment for posterity.
Another pub on the list of those I’ve visited.
(It’s 509 in Dublin alone largely down to the fact that in pre mobile ‘phone days, reporters such as I ‘phoned in our copy from pubs. That’s my excuse.)
So Connie took my mobile ‘phone and got ready to take the picture.
I had to say ‘STOP.’
You see, because I was driving, I had only a half pint of Guinness – a “glass” – in front of me.
And there is no way I was going to be photographed with a “glass” of Guinness.
People would wonder if I was ill (I am but it’s nothing to do with the “glass” of Guinness. Mind you, I think I’ll mention it to the doctor on Monday just in case.)
They certainly would have wondered why I, after a life of devotion to pints of the black stuff, would be photographed drinking a “glass.:”
(Once, in the Horse and Tram on Eden Quay when Eamon Brady ran it, a young American couple came in. The male ordered a “glass” of Guinness. Typical, I thought, miserable sod. Eamon put it in front of them. And then the American asked for a second glass and split the Guinness between himself and the girl. Half a “glass” of Guinness. Holy God Almighty, I thought, the world has gone mad.)
So I turned to the man sitting to my left and asked if I could borrow his pint. Without batting an eyelid, he agreed. He knew. He didn’t need it explained to him.
If you drink Guinness, you drink it in pints not “glasses.”
(I keep putting quotation marks around “glasses” because it my head, it’s not something real.)
So he slid the pint across, Connie took the picture. I gave him his pint back.
I finished my “glass” and we hit the road.
I might add, by the way, that it was absolutely delicious, as good as Toner’s and that’s saying something.
I hope to revisit on another occasion with a dedicated driver, on the back of a donkey or some other way so that I can enjoy a proper pint in Lynott’s.
A proper pint or two.