Fibber's - Dublin 🇮🇪

I’ve wanted to scoot over to these shores for as long as I can remember, and because I am so sick of flying into Gatwick or Heathrow (and because travel in Europe is so easy) I said, “bugger that” and flew into the land of the Irish. First of, I know Dublin is known for being a musician city, muso's busking, folk music being played almost 24/7 in pubs etc. but not only that, Dublin turned out to be as gorgeous as a postcard. Honestly not a spot I thought a misfit such as myself would find a dive, but we’ll get to that hangover in a moment. Much like Paris, Dublin is a fantastic walking city, so a word from the wise here, lace up some broken inn Docs or you’ll be cooked by lunchtime.

My self guided tour started at Ha’penny Bridge. I headed east, I think, finding all the usual spots along the way, Brazen Head, Temple Bar, Molly Malone’s statue, Bruxelles, and of course, the one I’d been dying to see for bloody years; Phil Lynott’s statue! Huge moment for my inner 12 year old! To this day Phil’s a legend, an advocate for Rock n’ Roll, but a bigger one for the Irish folk. And he was black. That’s right, a 6’ tall, black, Irishman. The Pikachu Illustrator Card of minorities. And yet, no one questioned it, no one tried to fill a quota, and no one gave a fuck. You see, you need to understand one thing about me. I truly despise all forms of all religions, they fuel nothing but hatred and separatism. However, I do believe in Rock n’ Roll, which to some might seem like a stupid concept, but I think praying to a bearded bloke in the sky to “get better” when you have breast cancer is a stupid concept (an aunt pulled that move, ask me how well it went for her). I’ve always said I believe in Rock n’ Roll because Rock n’ Roll has always been about openness and acceptance. No one cares if you’re gay, black, straight, male, female, the rule in the Rock n’ Roll community is “don’t be cunt”. By all means, hate someone if they are, but from what I can tell, Phil wasn’t 'a' cunt.

After my meeting with Uncle Phil and leaving a guitar pic for good luck. It was rocking on 4ish in the arvo. I trotted about town seeing some more sites; stopping off at some lovely cafes and as the sun was going down on what had been an utterly glorious day, I found a watering hole, and started with the wet ones. As ya do, I hit up a few tourist spots along the way, powering through a Guinness or two here and there. I delved into the Temple Bar for a couple, but soon realizing that I’d have to re-mortgage my flat, if I stayed any longer, so I dipped out sooner rather than later. Made my way through a couple more pubs and somehow ended up back at Bruxelles (which is where Phil's statue is); so I helped myself to a Thin Lizzy Whisky or two and was just about to call it a night when the barman says, “not at the Rock n’ Roll bar tonight son?”. “What rock bar do you speak of?” I ask inquisitively, “Fibber’s” he says, “just over the bridge”. Righto.

I took a water to go, made my way through a classic Friday night Irish pub fight outside another establishment and survived the perilous 30-minute walk back across town. I must have walked past the bloody place during the day but like witches, the best ones don’t dare show their faces in the daylight. I tell ya, I’m glad I made the voyage across town! Instantly met by a bloke the size of a caravan checking ID’s and as soon as he could tell I was old enough to hold my own I walked in and saw the glory of one of the greatest taps in the world just just read “Foster's” (that’s Australian for beer). It's blue, gold and red colours make any wannabe Aussie glee with excitement. Turns out, I walked straight into the middle of a heavy metal show. I think it was a battle of the band’s competition for Wacken, but in any event, I had a pint of Fosters & my ears were instantly on fire from the stacks of Marshalls on stage screaming their tits off from every guitar player attempting their best Dimebag impression.

Fibbers was the perfect 11pm find after a stella day of playing tourist in this wonderful city. The bands finished past midnight. I attempted to talk to a local or two to get the skinny on the Irish metal scene, but we were all pretty flushed at this point and either, I just couldn’t understand more than three words said by anyone or I’m going deaf. Both are possibilities. Sadly, I was flying out the next arvo, so I couldn’t return for round 2. However Fibbers is exactly what Dublin needs for us metal heads, it has just the right amount of grease on the floors and knock off décor on the walls to be what I would call, a great dive bar but not a complete shit hole. Since it was close to chucking out time, I grabbed some peanuts to go and oozed into my hotel bed just before 3am.

The next day I was able to fill up on a cheeky continental breaky and make an appearance at the Guinness factory for a last-minute tour. I highly recommend checking out the factory, the tour is fantastic, and you finish with a free pint of the black stuff. Truly cannot be beaten (unless it's a Fosters). All in all, this tiny, quaint town they call Dublin was a delightful, the people were salt of the earth, the black stuff was the best I’ve ever had, and the weather was surprisingly great.

6/6.

#RIPPhil.