The Sneaky Pint: Intergalactic Craic

Posted on January 28, 2021 / by The Drunken Poet

The Sneaky Pint does not reveal sources. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Brian was a Poet regular back in the early days, when the paint was still fresh and the walls weren’t as densely populated with portraits. He continues to be a regular and he intends to keep on continuing. This mightn’t sound particularly noteworthy, as what fool wouldn’t be a regular after sampling the pure and rare delight of Poet craic, but what is noteworthy is what happened to Brian as he walked home from the Poet on a dark and thunderous night in the Summer of 2013. It was one of those nights that had all the makings of a thunderstorm, but without the rain. The wind howled, the lightening cracked and the thunder rolled, but not a drop of rain fell. Mother nature was putting on quite the show, so Brian made the sort of decision one makes when one has had more than a few. He lay spreadeagled on the grass in Flagstaff Gardens and enjoyed the chaos unfurling.
Possums scuttled from tree to tree around him. He could see the outline of bats as they flew overhead. Clouds raced across the sky and then it all came to a halt. Not a sound could be heard. The trees that had been threatening to fall over in the storm a second ago were completely still. A light which started as a distant glow above him started to grow in size as it lit up the clouds with luminescence. And then he saw it. Brian rubbed his eyes in disbelief as a small ….spaceship??….descended from the clouds. He was in the middle of saying, “What the fuck?”, but he only got as far as “What th,” when he winked out of earthly existence.
I might’ve mentioned that Brian had had a few pints on this particular evening, which may have been an understatement, but it may explain his decision, on arriving in aforementioned spaceship, to attempt the unusual tactic of pretending everything was completely normal and befriending the …alien??… immediately. “What’s happening man? The name’s Brian. Have you got anything to drink on this ship or do we need to swing by a Dan Murphy’s for some takeaways? What’s your name man? Let’s put some tunes on, its like a fucking morgue in here.”
“Hello Brian, my name is Andrew,” was the calm and measured response from the, well…little green man. “I have no beverages on board but maybe you would be interested in some space dust. Does this music agree with you?” Andrew clicked his stick like fingers and Bob Marley started drifting through the craft…”One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright.”
Not a bad start, thought Brian and Andrew answered in his thoughts, “I’m glad you feel comfortable Brian. Now I must progress to the point of my visit to your planet. I believe you are a regular at the famous Drunken Poet. Please I must know the secret behind its amazing craic. I’m hoping to start a Drunken Poet on my planet and replicate this ethereal craic.”
“You’re fucking joking bai. You can’t replicate that, its just impossible. Now where’s this space dust you were talking about? Let’s get this party starrrrrted!”
Andrew really could not compute. “But Brian I have built an exact replica of The Drunken Poet on my planet. The detail is astounding. I just need this…craic… that I have heard about from space travelers. They say it essential to the experience. “
“Because it fuckin is man, but it isn’t like you can just buy it from Tescos or something.”
Andrew looked quite crestfallen. His dreams of running the best Irish pub in his galaxy were slipping from his grasp. Brian could see that the wind had been taken out of his sails. “Look man, if we go there now we might make last orders. My shout. It’ll make the universe seem a bit lighter.”
Andrew looked up. Maybe he could learn about the mythical craic of the Poet. “Ha ha man, I heard you thinking that. You can enjoy it bai, but you can’t take it with you.” As Brian slapped Andrew on the back and laughed.