A cold, well-poured pint of Beamish and a freshly-rolled Amber Leaf fag, back when they still sold it in 12.5g boxes.
Alternating between sips and drags, perched on a keg with a cushion between your arse and the metal indents. Short stubby legs struggling to cross comfortably. Sipping and dragging. Watching the people. Hearing familiar accents and banter.
Cathal would shneak out for a ninja rollie when the bar was quiet. Orlaith and I would solve the world’s problems. Txus and I would create beautiful new ones. The time we had the lock-in was great. Then, Cathal quit and the place declined in craic when they started putting scented candles on the tables.
If you’re reading this and you’re anywhere near Madrid between now and May, I would recommend paying a visit to Fundación Canal in Plaza de Castilla, Madrid, to see the posters of post-Impressionist artist Tolouse Lautrec.
If the depictions of dancers and the Paris party scenes of the 1890’s don’t attract you too much, I will nevertheless assure you that walking through the theatrically curated art space will make you feel like you’ve shouldn’t have had that last glass of absinth.
Running simultaneously in the Caixa Forum near Atocha is a retrospective on the work of Andy Warhol, which I visited yesterday and would also recommend; if not for the iconic prints of Marilyn Monroe, then for the hoards of evil millenials taking selfies in front of them.
I may touch on it with more detail some time in the future, but it’s easy to draw at least one parallel between Lautrec and Warhol – they enjoyed a good party and reveled in a society of both celebritism and freakism.