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somewhere not touristy, off the beaten track. Nick Royle,
the secretary of the PS, chose Gallagher's Boxty House and
Shebeen. Shebeen means an illegal drinking club, which it
wasn't. Boxty our driver knew of, but poured scorn upon. "It's something to do with potatoes," he said
grandly. "Throw it over your shoulder and you'll like
it." All agreed it was a traditional Irish dish.
When we got to the picturesque "Olde Dublin" street a group of undergraduates waited anxiously. "Let's
go for a drink," said one. "Why?" I asked. "It's 6.15 and my lecture starts at 7.30!" They looked nervous. The restaurant had apparently ignored
their booking. There would be a half-hour wait.
"Can you do something?" asked Nick hopefully. "Did you tell them I was with you?" I asked. "We wanted to surprise them," said Nick. "I'll surprise them," I said, setting out for
the swing doors. The students followed. "You
stay here," I said. "I'm better at this on
my own."
Gallagher's had Irish music, people sharing long tables, and
was full of American tourists. It was a pleasant room with
a bookcase and a rustic |
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