An Irishman abroad

The Big Match in Paris

Working on the go-live of a major product I was required to work really long hours, the 'highlight' a 36 hour data load session.

However, despite the pressures of work, I will always make time for a few pints of Guinness whilst watching my beloved Liverpool play, no matter where in the world my work takes me.

Paris was no exception. But what lay in store for me was not quite what I had expected....

Greetings once again, from the tip of the haemorrhoid on the arsehole of nowhere, in the middle of the country that will from now on be referred to as "bloody France"
For those of you just joining in, a brief recap....
I am stuck in a freezing warehouse in the middle of France and will be for the next couple of weeks helping out in the implementation of a new computer system for Kodak. (God help you all, if you're planning to buy a camera, film, camcorder this time next week).
About last night.....
Finished work at 19:00 (I know - I skived off early). Caught the train into the centre of Paris, negotiated the Metro manoeuvring past the drunks, drug dealers, homeless people, beggars, street traders, malcontents, and everything else that the self styled fashion capital of the world had to throw at me, until I reached my destination, "Le place de l'Opera". Such an ostentatious setting for what was basically supposed to be a journey into football paradise watching the mighty Liverpool Reds defeat the Scumbag Manchester United Reds in their own back yard.
After searching the internet yesterday, I found that there are around 50 Irish Pubs in Paris. One of these, Kitty O'Sheas billed itself as :
"... one of Paris's, if not France's, oldest and best loved Irish bars. A fact due to its central location at 10 Rue des Cappucine in the second Arrondissement, in the very heart of Paris. Its success has been due to its authentic Irish décor and friendly Irish bar staff.... "
Reading on, I was to discover that:
"Also on offer are all the premiership matches live on our big screen. We show all major football internationals and rugby internationals thus guaranteeing 12 months of non stop sports entertainment."
What better location for me to watch such a football spectacular right in the centre of Paris? So there it was to pass that I found myself, your intrepid traveller, at 20:15 sat at the bar of Kitty O'Sheas with a pint of Guinness anticipating the kick off of the big match at 21:00, by taking the opportunity to savour the "authentic Irish décor and friendly Irish bar staff.... "
Obviously so pleased were they of their "authentic Irish décor" that they felt the need to illuminate the place with the brightest lighting I have ever experienced in my life. Obviously what they meant by "authentic Irish décor", was the spotlight at Crumlin Road Interrogation centre. So, doing my best to cope with severe burning of the retinas, I settled down to enjoy my pint.
I say enjoy, but it is quite difficult to achieve a state of enjoyment when you are charged 6 and a half Euros for the privilege and have to try and scoop most of it off the bar with a beer mat. Still, at least the beer mat was advertising one of Ireland's most authentic beers - "Brugs Witbier" and I had a great seat at the bar in front of the big screen. I could cope with the bright lighting and crap pints. At least here I was, against the odds ready for the big match. I started to look at the big screen.
I say look at, because that was indeed all I could do. Yes, the biggest match of the season so far, and there I was staring at the big screen, listening to the bloody Gypsy Kings, booming out of the pub's sound system. Not quite what I had in mind for pre-match build up, although faced with listening to what Andy Gray and David Beckham had to say, perhaps the Gypsy Kings was an inspired choice.
My spirits suitably lifted by watching David Beckham speaking to the spanish lyrics of "Bamba Laya", I took time to look round the bar at my fellow football fanatic, drinking companions. People from all walks of life where there. That is, if you only walk in the parts of life where stock brokers, jewellers, lawyers, accountants, doctors, and all sorts of young professionals reside. Er, well, that is to say, the parts of life where the French stock brokers, jewellers, lawyers, accountants, doctors, reside.
Now, OK - I realise that I was indeed sat in the middle of Paris, in the middle of France, so to find myself surrounded by French people should not have come as that much of a surprise to me. But where was the "authentic Irish experience" I was looking for? Not one drunk asleep in the corner with the subtle aroma of piss and vomit hovering around him, no miserable bollox behind the bar, showing you the cheeks of his arse each time he bent over to pick up a warm bottle of beer from the 'fridge', no football supporters singing - in fact come to think of it, there were NO football supporters! Not one football top, scarf, football song - not even a subtly hidden tatoo. I was surrounded by the young and affluent (or should that read 'effluent'??) of Paris.
Still, it was half an hour before kick off, there was plenty of time for the clientele to improve. These wankers would all head home for hot chocolate and bed time to be replaced by like-minded football supporting, beers drinking, song singing, gentlemen.
And then in walked a couple of young studenty types. They sat down at a table just in front of me settling in for the game. At last! Fellow football fans! One of them went to the bar, and ordered two drinks. He then went back to the table, I guess expecting some form of waiter table service. When their drinks did not arrive, the other one went up and ordered them again, returning to the table. After a few moments, realising that to enjoy the authentic Irish experience, you had to actually go to the bar to get your drink (crazy concept, I know), the first guy went up to the bar, only to be faced with having to pay for a double round. Now this would not really be that big of a hassle (I mean, during the space of a 90 minute football match, you are likely to drink more than one), but because of the exorbitant price required to enjoy the "Authentic Irish Experience", coupled with the fact that they had ordered a whiskey each, which was even more expensive, the poor wee fella, nearly had a cornary. When he complained, I was a witness at first hand to the "friendly Irish bar staff" that I had read about, in action.
"Listen, my friend" (you can see the friendliness already, can't you?) "You and your pal ordered twice - you pay twice"
"But, but..."
"You ordered twice - once from me, once from my colleague"
"Yes, but..."
"You pay twice"
His student chum came to the bar and such was the friendly nature of the exchange that the barman brought his colleague to join in the friendly banter. After much jovial, friendly conversation, the two students had to organise an extension to their overdraft, sell a few text books and forego paying their next heating bill, to ensure that the transaction was completed.
"Next time, you order once, from one person", the friendly barman, friendly advised.....
I felt sorry for the two French students, faced with the prospect of financial ruin, so long before graduation. Until, that was, when he took off the jacket and I noticed the label (I do this sort of thing when I am sat alone in a bar) and it read "Hugo Boss".
Fuck him and his capitalist boyfriend! May they spend the rest of their days forever being ripped off to enjoy the Authentic Irish Experience.....
So 21:00 arrives and it's time for the big kick off.
The bar is awash with English speaking football fans and adorned in a veritable sea of red*. Well OK, there are a group of system analysts (with the emphasis on anal) from London. The type that know fuck all about football, other than the fact that they support Manchester United, cause they're the 'best team in the world mate, innit!!' Actually mate, check the record books - the most successful team in the history of English football are indeed Liverpool. In fact mate, believe it or not football existed before the advent of Premier league football and Sky TV.
* - there is one guy sporting a brand new Manchester United scarf. Time to take off my sweater and show off my tatty, but at least pre-worn "Lucky Liverpool top".
Oh and by the way, the game finished:
Scumbags 0 - The Mighty Liverpool 1
All together now - "You'll never walk alone".....
As for the train ride home - that's a completely different story.......