I have a special distaste for faux Irish bars (which is all of them not in Ireland unless run by Irish people…see the Lion, for a good exception). So, it was with trepidation I went into Dicey Reilly’s but it doesn’t really have anything Irish bar like to it other than the name, the font the name is painted, some functional musical instruments scattered around, kids coming in with more instruments to jam, a bunch of professional alcoholics…but none of that obligatory gosh ‘n’ begorrah bullshit. And, the landlord is Irish.
The only ale I spotted was Denbury Dreamer but it was a very good bevvy. “What’re ye takin’ a picture o’ that’ fer?” a one-legged man asked. “So’s I can remember what it is I been drinking,” I honestly answered. “Planning on having a few…or ALREADY had a few?” he asked, squinting with the last half of the question.
I asked where to get some seafood on my way out but the place they sent me was a chippy. I decided to catch the train back to Exeter and try there.