I visited Dingle Ireland for a couple of days in June of 2003. I met a Dutch girl there who would be important to me for while.
I'd seen the place on the first day. I was looking for a bicycle to rent only looking. I had checked into a hostel, and gone out for a walk.
I saw the hand-painted sign on the small historic storefront and stopped in to ask the price.
Inside there were no bikes, and the most conspicuous aspect of the interior was that it was a small pub. Well, the left side was a pub. On the right side was a counter, behind and above which was a small selection of hardware.
The walls and ceiling were an industrial-retail 1950's deep gloss yellow. It's been hardware and bikes since the 50's, but a pub for longer.
The counter behind the bar was cluttered. There was an old electric teakettle the kind still shaped like a stovetop version. There were 7 or 8 stools along the bar, and one or two around its corner toward the rear wall.
After the hardware store closes, people can sit along the counter on that side as well. I went back past Foxy John's on Saturday evening. It was busy. It was packed with locals. There must have been 20 people.
Saturday nights in 2003 were always busy in Ireland. There was nowhere to sit or even stand for a pint, so I went elsewhere.
Sunday evening, I went back in with a Dutch girl I'd met at the hostel. We talked with a few lovely hippies there, one of whom told an Irish joke that remains one of my favo(u)rites.