A few years ago when living in Dublin, I was looking in the classifieds and saw an advertisement looking for a “Brand Ambassador” for a drinks company. This, I thought, would be right up my alley. I filled out the application, did the interview and got the job. The position turned out to be working to promote the new concept of Guinness Mid Strength. This is a Guinness with less alcohol than the average one, but not too little that it wouldn’t have any effect. I signed along the dotted line – got the company car, mobile and expense account and went on my way.
Drinking
Who is responsible for our nation of drunks?
I want to talk today about the inherent beliefs which exist in the world about the culture of “Irishness” – aka the piss heads of the world. Where did the idea come from that we are all drunkards and great fun on the booze? Where did we get the reputation as being one of the biggest nation of drinkers on this globe of green and blue? Who exactly is to blame for all Irish being born with the idea that an innate part of us is some way biased towards consuming alcohol? Why are there so many pubs associated with Ireland scattered around the world? Are we ourselves to blame? Oh no…. I touched on it last week and I want to blame one nation and one nation only – The English! Now before you take off in a rage with considered ideas which might involve the thoughts that us Irish are responsible for adorable snugs, great atmosphere and delicious porter, hear me out – it is the idea that we are drunks and the like that I’m after, not the actualities which exist right today. Now read on…
Throwing out the drunken Irish
The drunken Irish – oh how we love to be the wobbliest and loudest. How we love the idea that one Paddy can pack away more pints than a small community in Belgium. We are so entrenched in the idea that it is our inalienable right to be sozzled, that we sometimes lose sight of why we want to get so drunk. Why is the natural sober state of an Irish person so repugnant that we constantly want to be tipsy, drunk or semi paralytic? It is only in the last 250 years that we have become such vessels for intoxication, but that is next weeks’ blog, and I have someone very special to blame for that one…and it’s not just the beer companies.
When I worked as a taste tester for Guinness
I had my first taste of beer today in a long, long time. For those of you who don’t know, I run a very busy Irish bar in Bondi. Strange you might think, for one so abstemious to operate forty or fifty hours a week in the capacity of a publican. But that’s what I do nonetheless. A representative came in from a beer company and had a new “Pale Ale” he was offering for sale. He had a sample with him, so I tried it – kind of as simple as that. The beer was crisp and tarty, with a high sour aftertaste that hit the top of your throat. There were hints of hoppy, yeasty fermentation, yet the beer quickly culled this with a sharp dryness that made you think you needed to drink more. There was a fine balance between heavy and light and it got me thinking about my life and career….
Tales from near and far
It’s been a frustrating week on the poker tables. I have been haemorrhaging cash on all sides and finding it difficult to keep any sort of traction and momentum going. I’ve just finished playing for nearly six hours and have been dunked out of two massive tourneys online with nothing to show for it but a whole load of expletives. It has been a case of one or two bad decisions, mixed with a horrendous run of bad luck. It’s a tough game and it’s made all the tougher when luck goes against you. Poker is a big release for me and when it goes wrong I find myself shrinking into a deep, dark spot. There is no alcohol to drag me out of this, so it means I have been facing myself every day with nothing to cover the wrinkly down turned lines on my face. I see myself for the bushy haired, balding, softly sagging man that I am. Gambling is emotional and losing opens sore pores. I’m not a happy camper.
I’m talkin’ ’bout money money
I’ve been thinking a little bit about the cold hard cash that turns the brains of this world. I’m not going to launch into some tree hugging, leftist idealism about the nature of happiness but I must state that we all need a little bit of money. Everyone needs money. Barter can’t work for a planet that functions as massively as our little blob of blue and green. It’s just not possible. Let’s also face the reality that we are all at some level, intoxicated by the idea of having a limitless purse. What would you do if you won the lottery? If you had fifty million lying around, what would you buy? Well, if you had $200,000 sitting looking at you, what would you get into your possession? Two hundred grand is a nice sum. You could buy a house, not a big one or a mansion in the suburbs, but a house nonetheless. For around two hundred grand you could buy this picturesque 3 bedroom semi detached house in the lovely town of Mallow in Co. Cork. You would have to live in Cork, but that’s another matter completely.