McMahons Bar (Murts) in Ennistymon

Lovely pub great atmosphere and warm

There's some sort of magic in the air as I walk these quiet streets. Passing the various pubs, I catch snippets of lively conversation and laughter, fleeting moments of conviviality, too far to touch, too close to ignore. In front of McMahons I come across a man wearing the grotesque characterization of a 1970s disco outfit, and quickly come to the conclusion that I have somehow travelled through time, though I look and feel no different. I look behind me, panic coursing through my veins as I try to remember what my wife looks like, if I have children, if I have any life at all. Turning back around, I lock eyes with the disco god, his eyes unfocused, a cigarette clenched between his teeth, glowing like a demon's birthmark in the semi-darkness. "Almost didn't see you there," I say. "You blend in so well." The disco god's eyes, wide as Montreal bagels, bore into me. In the gaze of his fury I imagine torment, tribute, and Turn the Beat Around. I await his judgment, accepting my cruel fate. "I like you!" The disco god bellows.

Brilliant Craic with Murty McMahon