McCarthy's Bar
Pete McCarthy
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd, 2001
Scotland? A Book This Irish and Critical Mick's Review Begins in Scotland?
Act 1. Edinburgh.
Critical Mick: Fringe Festival! Beer! Buildings that look like they're out of Batman!
Critical Mick's Funky Kid Sister: I am so glad that we decided to share our holidays this year! It is great seeing you and your lovely wife.
CM: The company of yourself and your husband is equally pleasing. Yo, Brendan! Shall we imbibe before the show starts? Helloooo, Brendan?
CMFKS: He can't hear you, dear brother. He's been like that ever since his friend loaned him Pete McCarthy's Irish travelogue, McCarthy's Bar.
CM: He would rather read a book about bars than go into a real, actual bar?
CMFKS: He'd rather read that book than do anything!
CM: Hey, this pub is dedicated to a terrier who used to hang out here.
CMFKS: Brendan, shall we go in for a hair of the dog? Brendan? Brendaaannnnn? See what I mean, Mick?
CM: Look who's coming! Yikes, hide!
CMFKS: Mick, it's just that twenty-third Earl of Elephant from the pub last night.
CM: The geezer is going to try to scam more free drink off us.
CMFKS: He's passed. Stop cowering behind the dog's statue.
CM: Holy tomatoes!
(Emerging, Mick is smashed to the Scotish ground by a man in a rhinestone dress skipping past, holding liberty's torch in one hand and the hand of Ricky Gervais in the other)
Critical Mick's Brother-in-Law, Brendan: He he he!
CM (groaning): I get trampled by a hillbilly transvestite and all Brendan does is laughs?
CMFKS: No, it was because of something that he read.
CM: That's some book.
Act 2. Dublin.
CMFKS: I'm glad to see that your injuries have healed, dear brother. And your house is beautiful!
CM: Ah, both it and I are slowly improving. Say! Would Brendan mind helping me out with a job or two around here? Fame and fortune are sure to come calling, any day now. I'd better wire up a doorbell.
CMB-i-LB: He he he!
CMFKS: Good luck trying to get him out of McCarthy's Bar. He occasionally waves for beer or whiskey, otherwise all he does is read. And giggle.
CM: What's that about, then?
CMFKS: English TV presenter Pete McCarthy's mom was from County Cork. He spent many summers and holidays over here in Ireland, growing up. As an adult he returns, trying to discover whether he is Irish and what it means to be Irish.
CM: Does he succeed?
CMFKS: From excerpts that Brendan has been compelled to read aloud, McCarthy appears to have codified the Irish experience. For instance: The Eighth Rule of Travel states: Never Pass a Bar That Has Your Name On It.
CM: The man is wise.
CMFKS: McCarthy interviews many interesting people. Gives recommendations on what to see and avoid. Makes observations in fourty shades of color. In short, dear brother, his portrait of Ireland blows all to hell your crappy Edinbugh skit that started off this review.
CM: D'oh!
CMB-i-LB: He he he!
Act 3. Dublin. One Week Later.
CM: Exclamations! Brendan's nose is no longer buried in McCarthy's Bar!
CMB-i-LB: I finished it while your funky kid sister and I were travelling out in County Clare.
CM: And what is your opinion?
CMB-i-LB: Truly Excellent. Five shots of Jameson out of five. Pete McCarthy really captures the truth of things. Whether it's the feeling that comes over you at a Famine memorial or the way that rental car companies screw tourists over, McCarthy describes matters with otherworldly eloquence. It's a compelling, satisfying read.
CM: (covertly scribbling) That sounds good!
CMB-i-LB: Oh, it's funny as hell, too.
CM: You don't say!
CMB-i-LB: Here, have a loan of it! For the next time you've got hours to kill on a long plane journey.
CM: Wow! Thanks for the book! The doorbell, too, though I don't think that's working right. I was expecting an imminent call from Fame and Fortune.
CMB-i-LB: Umm....
CM: Well, any other craic before this review moves on to Act 4?
CMB-i-LB: Might as well plug McCarthy's sequel, while I'm here. The Road to McCarthy: Around the World in Search of Ireland is a worthy companion to the first volume.
Act 4. Orlando, Florida.
Critical Mick's Mom: It's so nice that you've come to visit us, son! How long has it been since you were back in the US?
Critical Mick's Mom: Too long, too long. There are still trees hanging precariously over the house from last year's hurricanes. Would you like to have a go at them with this chainsaw?
Critical Mick's Mom: No? Ah well. Let's go to Petty's and restock your supply of hot sauces! Have spicy foods caught on in Ireland, at all?
Critical Mick's Mom: What's that dogeared book that you're reading, anyway?
CM: He he he.
Act 5. Dublin. Back Garden Party, 3 AM
Random Neighbour's Father from Belfast: Ah, who is joining the party! How about ye?
CM: They kicked my drunken ass out of The Dublin Writers Festival 2005. Barmen, poxy bastards! I just staggered off the nightlink, I heard revelry. I'm here for beer! Hello, who ever you kind people are! Um. Any beer going?
RNFFB: Ah wait! You're that daft pet who scheduled Erin Hart on Ricki Lake, even though Ricki Lake's show is long off the air?
CM: Yes, sadly, I am Critical Mick.
RNFFB: Yes, ye look like you're all wired up but not plugged in. And I could tell by your accent that you are a foreigner!
CM: Um. (A long pause, during which some kind soul named David or maybe Tara, or is it Tina, remotely possibly Paws, puts a much-needed beer in Mick's hand) If you have just said, "Fuck off back home! Ya DFA bastard!" I did not hear it. Sorry! My ears are easily bored. They block that out, nowadays.
RNFFB: Would ye ever stop! I just expressed my astonishment that your American-born arse has not yet quoted at length some Free-Stater Irish book.
CM: You are as wise as Pete McCarthy. Speaking of which, I would excerpt his excellent and wildly funnier than this review McCarthy's Bar. Except I no longer have it at hand. Immediately upon finishing his book I loaned it to somebody.
RNFFB: Like a zombie in 28 Days Later?? As soon as you're bit, you pass it on?
CM: Yes, but in an Irish way. With really crap memory. And a surfer dude accent.
RNFFB: Ach! So you won't reveal insights into Irishness, won't bend my ear 'til dawn with anecdotes and jokes?
CM (munch munch): These chicken wings will have to do.
RNFFB: Yes, you're really powering your way through them! Ah, ha! A wee bit of help! Anyone?
CM: Don't take it from me, what it means to be Irish. Take it from Pete McCarthy. The dude rocks!
RNFFB: If I promise I'll read the feckin book, will you leave us in peace?
Critical Mick jumps: Five back garden fences out of five, before crashing chin-first into his own little patch. His self-important hat tips off. Pete McCarthy, you rock!
Critical Mick says McCarthy's Bar ROCKS. Man! If only my last name was as common, I would have fun following Pete McCarthy's footsteps. Halpin's Bar would sadly be a short book.
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