ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Leaning over the bar at his new Dublin local, Sam Canterwell explained to his new friend the barman that the Guinness back home in South Betoota isn’t half as good as it is in the Republic.
“You know they make it in Australia with this concentrate? Like a glass of fucking cordial it is,” he said with a faux, weak D4 accent.
“Not like here, this is mother’s milk. I love Dublin, I reckon I could live here, I could. Only place you can get a good Guinness in the world. Those Diageo soyboys can’t spoil it here. I’ve heard this is an IRA pub? Are there any of them here I can get a selfie with?”
Unbeknown to the 19-year-old holidaymaker, two other friends in his travelling party told our reporter via Skype this morning that Sam had his first Guinness two days ago upon their arrival in the Irish capital.
Which makes his declaration and opinion invalid, says friend Peter Smoothgooch.
“Sam, to my knowledge, has never had a Guinness back home. Not even at Jack Duggin’s in the French Quarter. They’ve got the best Guinness in Betoota but Sam wouldn’t know that because he’s the type of degenerate that’d ‘butt-chug’ a whole bottle of Pinot Gris,” said Smoothgooch.
“We look forward to going to Copper Face Jacks tonight having some more pints of Guinness,”
“Perhaps we might even have a lager. Then Sam will start telling people you don’t get good Coors Light back in Australia. Anyway, I’m half pissed on holidays so I don’t know why I complaining. You know he’s got his Dad’s Amex in his wallet for emergencies. The only emergencies we’ve had so far have involved getting pints and asking dodgy-looking people if they can get us some co-kay-eee-na.”
More to come.
