The Quay’s Bar (Northgate Inn), Northgate St, Athlone, Ireland.

"Tell that fellow to get out," demanded the Neanderthal type barmaid as she rushed towards me

Another Irish dive where the moronism will stun you.

The Quay’s Bar in the heart of Athlone is a dive that exudes Pict-Irishness like pig’s shit oozes foulness. And the moronic bastard who owns and manages this reptile-pit has about as much social nous as a wild boar.

Typically for such inbreds he chooses his staff after his own heart; it wouldn’t be unusual in this Oirish pub to see a dribbling-at-the-mouth imbecile serving food to a besuited local gombeen professional.

I went here one day at 2.00pm to meet a couple of friends – this rendezvous arose because they were unfamiliar with Athlone and this was the only place they remembered from a previous visit. I got a coffee and as I headed towards a table a local arsehole greeted me.

I knew this chap to be unstable, halfwitted and always the worst for alcohol and drugs and other than to say hello hadn’t much time for him. I returned his greeting, made small-talk for about 15-seconds, and then extricated myself.

This reviewer understated quite a lot because there's absolutely no "talent" whatsoever in the Quay's Bar.

Intending to find a peaceful perch and await the arrival of my friends I headed for the opposite end of the bar – attempting to get as far as possible from the many annoying pricks that frequent this place. It my attempt to eschew arseholes and irritating morons I walked right into the type of mongrelism that saturates Irish society – particularly places like Athlone, Galway, Cork and Kerry.  

As I placed my coffee on a table an obese barmaid who was about 5-foot-tall and 20-years-old (who looked as if born of a jackal) approached me wearing a countenance that’d do a reptile proud.

What would an insane moron
be likely to serve you?

This inbred female is typical of Pict-Irish society, i.e., a squat bitch with a blotched red face, brains of a cucumber, aggression of a hyena and an intellect on a par with a cockroach’s. A good analogy to her bodily looks would be to think of an apple with a cherry pinned on top and two matchsticks for legs. If you saw this dirty cunt stacking tinned dog food in a supermarket you’d not give any of it to your pet.

And from there on my stop-off in the Quay’s Bar Athlone descended into unbelievable lunacy – even for provincial Ireland it was madness beyond the pale. The squat inbred bitch – the fucking mongrel – actually demanded, in a loud vitriolic voice, that I go and tell the drunk that had just greeted me to leave1. Unbelievably she wanted me to throw out another customer, whom she'd been serving all morning, because she now believed he'd had enough – he'd probably had enough before he ever even entered the pub.

How much else would the owner of the Quay's gastropub be likely to overlook?

And this was the first time in my life I’d ever been in this particular gastro-pub, she wouldn't have known me, she’d never have seen or met me before – she was an arsehole of unbelievable dimensions. In provincial Ireland you expect and experience high levels of stupidity but this was really off-the-scale. This was completely out-of-bounds even for inbred backward Paddy-land.

Having been taken completely by surprise and being momentarily stunned I responded exasperatedly that under no circumstances was I going to tell him or anyone else to leave. What was her reply, was there any advantage gained in pointing out that it was the pub’s staff and management who were responsible for removing drunk and drugged patrons?

?????????

The fucking nut-case got even more aggressive and started yelling; kept on insisting that I tell the drunk to leave. At this, with my face a purple and blue hue, I shouted in return and described what a stupid inbred arsehole she was and told her to fuck-off. With this she screeched and ran behind the bar and when she put as much space as possible between us she responded by telling me I wouldn’t be served any more.

How egregious does stupidity become before it’s classed as insanity, was this cunt chronically moronic or insane? It’s Ireland it’s what you’d expect and does it really make a difference whether she was chronically stupid or actually insane you might well ask.

Everybody, Paddy excepted, will
produce yellow when they
mix red and green.

What does make a difference, though, is that the proprietor of the Quay’s Bar gave her a job dispensing drinks and food to the public. When the owner of this Bar and restaurant could place an unstable moron like her at front of house to deal directly with members of the public what type of person would he deem suitable for the kitchens?

Would he be capable – like the Quay’s restaurant in Galway – to have even more unstable and lunatic employees back in the kitchen where he knows the public aren’t going to see or personally experience them? When he’d deem this ranting piece-of-crap barmaid satisfactory to deal directly with his customers what type of a shit-tossing moron might he have employed as a cook.

The Dutch couple I had been due to meet had turned up at the onset of the barmaid’s lunacy and witnessed the whole episode. They were used to Irish backwardness but not to this extent.

The only good thing about Athlone is this road that eventually leads to the mainland.

To give this Dutch pair an excellent insight into true Pict-Irish mongrelism I arranged for them to meet me in the Quay’s Bar the following day. We’d meet outside first and they’d enter with me following a few minutes later where I’d join them at their table.

I knew that either some of the staff or the owner would be backward and stupid enough to have another go. The thick backward Pict-Irish can’t sum-up a situation and come to a logical conclusion: when these bastards mix red and green they don’t get yellow, they’d get black, gray, purple or orange, fucking anything but yellow.

And sure enough the owner decided to back-up his mentally retarded barmaid. He came at me the minute I entered the premises accusing ME of having been aggressive to his inbred backward barmaid. And like his barmaid he was witless and I enjoyed putting him down, showing him as the backward fucking Irish arsehole he is.

He got a surprise when he realised the two tourists2 (the dutch couple) had witnessed what had occurred the previous day; he was badly jolted when the Dutch male joined me in describing him as a moron – his slackjawed face became more elongated than usual.  

What amazes about the Quay’s Bar is that quite a few locals (fools) use it for dining, mostly lunch or shacks. To paraphrase my Dutch friend: “can they not put two and two together […] the owner is obviously stupid to regard mentally disturbed bar staff as being fit to deal with members of the public; what type of [dirty shit throwing] lunatic might he have hidden in the kitchen?”     

This type of backward nut-case will be found staffing quite a few other bars and restaurants in Athlone.  And generally the owners and managers who employ such trash aren't much better themselves. This town is the first big concentration of Picts you’ll encounter when travelling westwards from Dublin, and, true to form, they don’t like doing anything rationally. Athlone is a microcosm of Cork or Galway cities where if you order a cup of coffee you might well have it thrown at you.

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1Did she think because I’d said hello to him, the fact that I’d spoken to him for a number of seconds that I somehow had a responsibility for him? Scientists will figure out whether there’s a God or not long before they decode the thinking processes of inbred Irish morons.

2When he had heard that these two were non-Irish he immediately went into lick-arse mode. It’s an obsequious act the provincial Paddy puts on to impress foreigners; a pretence at intelligence and an attempt to relieve them of a much money as possible.