I always enjoy my morning cuppa in Bar Trapaia with the paper and a chat to Kalpi & Feliz. It was the same in the Cherrytree Pub back home in Dublin, where I’d discuss the obituaries & recipes of the newspaper with John D & Eddie most mornings -and on the odd occasion give John D a game of chess. In the evenings, here in Zumaia, I enjoy supping a cider while practicing my poor Spanish with the locals of Bar Metro & Bar Nikol; & back home, it was similar where I’d sup while having the occasional gamble on football in the Cottage Inn with Gatsy & Shane -and once had a very enjoyable game of bingo there; & before that in London, while in university, I’d spend the midweek evenings in Mount Claire Halls student bar, Roehampton, playing the juke-box in the congenial company of Keith, Kev, Nath & Jim -and on one occasion did a coursework there; and at the weekends I’d spend my nights in the V.I.P -an after-hour shebeen at the back of Leicester Square- playing pool with work colleagues after finishing a shift in an Irish pub.
From the above it would seem I have done everything but sleep in a boozer, and funnily enough I did try that once. It happened in the aforementioned V.I.P after I had moved out of my uni digs and couldn’t find any accommodation for the night. I reasoned that as I spent most of my Friday & Saturday nights -and the early hours of the following mornings- socialising in this establishment, I’d use it as temporary lodgings. However after an hour there I discovered that licensed -or for that matter unlicensed- bars do not make for places to have a comfortable kip, so I abandoned this establishment and went in search of a quieter place to lay my head. After trying a side-street corner -that was too chilly- I was lucky enough to come across the front arches of Charing Cross train station, which I found was a natural cover from the elements. I shared that piece of pavement with a few other unfortunates who were thinking along the same lines as me -wanting a quiet night’s sleep. At about 4.30ish the Red-cross arrived outside the station and setup a stall where they dished out soup & bread-rolls to those caught out in the elements that night.
I learnt a few lessons that night and one of them was that the outside pavement of a train station can be a more conducive place for a night’s kip than a pub couch.
(c) Poraic Cahill
About Odd Life:
From a German man accusing his ex-girlfriend of attempted murder by use of her 38DD breasts, to a 107 year old having a shoot-out with the Arkansas SWAT police, the author Poraic Cahill chronicles the strange & bizarre he encounters in Odd Life.
Order your copy online here.