Further out the peninsula there was a great little pub/hardware store/bicycle shop....
I'd needed to get out of Kilkenny, and had gone west. I passed through Killarney and went, with an Irish fellow I met there, up to Tralee.
Off the bus in Killarney on the Thursday, I'd met a guy from Wicklow. We'd had some pints that evening. No accommodation that festival weekend, I hadda move on. Eoin suggested Tralee, and said maybe he'd go with me.
We went on the piss again in Tralee. We found a decent pub after a couple of abortive pints here and there.
She noticed us, too. She watched us, more like. I guess we looked alright; she said nothing, and she greeted us with hospitality as we approached the bar counter in back.
Tralee is a rough town, working class and rather charmless overall. However, the matron here made up for the lack of classiness in the town. She had a sweet smile, white hair, and looked solid.
She was an imposing figure, her breasts the size of watermelons, distended as would be soft watermelons over the years. And she took no messing from anybody. Friendly to sweetness, she was quick to action when somebody crossed her notion of order in what was clearly her pub.
A few young folks came in, late in the evening. She checked their identification where did she come from so fast, to the entrance of the pub area?
No proper i.d., a couple of lads had to leave.
They came back later. [...]
She was there in an instant, and stood before them as wide as a brick wall. "I told you to stay away," she roared. "Now fuck off!"
They left. And we had a laugh about it, Eoin and I us sitting right there next to the doorway as we were. She laughed with us, just as sweet as you'd want anybody to be.