Very occasionally we venture forth from West Cork, up past Cork City, and on to the efficiently boring motorway towards the big smoke, Dublin. Our trip this time began slowly with the usual mind-numbingly inefficient visit to the not-fit-for-purpose bank. This time, while help from the staff was slow in coming, a friendly woman in the queue took it upon herself to advise me on how long a cheque may take to clear. It would certainly have cleared in the time it took me to get to the last endangered cashier. However, a few decades later we were off, stopping briefly at the wonderful Ger’s Cafe in Leap to gather provisions of bacon butties and coffee.
Our first cosmopolitan experience upon reaching the nominative capital of Ireland was meeting friends for drinky-poos at the rooftop bar of The Marker Hotel. (And trust me, it’s definitely a “drinky-poos” place). The staff were very eager to imprint upon us that this was an exclusive place and they were not entirely sure whether we were exclusive enough to get in, but when they realised our inner classiness they relented and became utterly charming. The bar is stunning with views over Dublin out towards the sea. They also provided bright yellow fluffy blankets in case one is chilly. We were there at the same time as an orthodontics conference and near us was the Chief Orthodontist wearing her gold chain of office and a yellow blankie looking vaguely like some Tibetan monk reincarnated unexpectedly into a power dresser.
The focus of our evening was Warhorse in The Bord Gáis Energy Theatre (such a an attractive and cultured name). Warhorse, produced by the English National Theatre company, is an adaptation of Michael Morpurgo’s novel using enormous and visceral puppets. Visually, it is stunning. The horse twitch and canter with astonishing realism, the goose provides comedic hisses, and the re-enactment of the trench warfare raises the hairs on your neck. It is very moving when one of the horses dies and the three operators of the puppet leave the shell of the body, stand for a moment in contemplation and then move away like the soul of the animal. But unfortunately, the production does not rely on puppets alone. The human acting was as close to wooden as any old fashioned marionette. There seemed to be a particular need to depict young people as hand waving, shouting simpletons. And I won’t even start on ze French and der German accents! However, if you can overlook that it’s worth going to see it (literally) for the spectacle.
After a Saturday spent doing family things, I met up with some friends for dinner. We popped our heads in to various fabulous smelling places around Beggar’s Bush, including the deeply sensually scented Juniors, only to find that they were all fully booked. While this is great for the economy it’s less pleasing for my stomach. We ended up in The Chop House which was also bustling but they were good enough to squeeze us in. The guys I was with chose the John Dory with a lime crust which was lovely. I, however, was less lucky with my steak that came on one of those irritating slabs of wood that are far too small for you to get a proper grip of your meal. And a proper grip was need as my medium rare steak was a long way from its bloody genesis. The meal was redeemed for me though by the presence of white port on the menu. It was all in all a happy evening and we even managed to discuss the nature of consciousness, over port of course.
So now we are back at the coal face of independent education providers for a new week, and most excitingly our advert for our writers’ retreat in Glengarriff will be coming out in the London Review of Books. Who needs the big smoke when you’ve got the food and scenery of Glengarriff.