There are nights I feel like selling up and opening Billy’s Beach Bar, but I’d miss the madness and craic

The sign taped to the fortune teller’s door advertised WhatsApp readings. There were several phone numbers written down one after the other on a blue-lined page torn from a notepad. The notice said something like: “Put down your number and I will get back to you.” She was busy enough, I’d say, judging by the list of numbers. You can sort of understand why. The world was never more in need of certainty. Not even our leaders know what’s going to happen next.

The fortune teller’s sign also stated she wouldn’t be able to greet the callers while she was doing a reading, so I moved on, even though it was Cheltenham week.

She was in Dublin, in the laneway that was Blackrock Market, to be exact. It was a good day in Blackrock. I was doing nothing much and had all day to do it. Maybe this was how Ulysses started out in these parts. That’s the Dublin version and not the Greek Odyssey. The Irish Sea is too cold for Greeks.

I gave the morning to studying the horses. As things turned out, I got a high B grade, which has nothing to do with the famous and wonderful pub in Cork of the same name. The late owner of the Hi-B barred a man for not listening attentively enough to Mozart.

Next to the fortune teller’s reading room in the patched-up Blackrock Market was a Michelin-starred restaurant. I looked in the window once. The place was closed, but there were a couple of chefs working away inside. One of them was carrying a huge fish. I’m not sure if it was real or one you hang on a wall as a trophy.

It seems it’s very hard to make money nowadays out of Michelin restaurants or any other kind of restaurant, or a pub, for that matter. My rates went up nearly fourfold this year.

Here’s what I think is happening. The powersthat-be, like most people, go into restaurants and pubs only during the busy times.

The till is singing and the place is buzzing on Saturday nights. The powers-that-be are sure we’re all making a fortune, but they forget the insurance is not just confined to Saturday night – the electricity meters are kept moving by the refrigeration, even when we’re closed.

The rates are a killer and are charged every second of every day. Every time we get money in, we give it back out. There are a couple of dozen monthly outgoings, and there are nights when two is a crowd.

I promise this is nearly the end of the Poor Mouth. Our wage costs have gone up. There are some bigger places that have a huge bill and are suffering due to the increase in the minimum wage. I take the view it’s a privilege to pay staff the most I can manage.

This is how I get my kicks. Even with the increases and tips, no one is going to get rich working in hospitality. I’ll keep going as long as I can because I love the game.

There are nights when I feel like selling up and opening Billy’s Beach Bar. But then again, I would miss junior GAA, meeting the characters and listening to the stories of the people who come in, like the window cleaner who told me it was all in the rub.

I’ll never become an entrepreneur. Not now, not ever. I’m not cut out for it. For me, enough is more than enough.

By the way, the Michelin restaurant in the Blackrock Market is booked out for months and there’s even an online waiting list system.

I’m fairly sure I saw the fish tail move, which proves pretty conclusively that the fish was for the pan and not the wall. I was given a talking fish called Big Mouth Billy Bass as a present. He was actually a singing fish, and off went his song when you pressed a button in his belly. The song was Don’t Worry, Be Happy, which was a big hint from the person who gave me the singing bass.

I went from Blackrock back to Booterstown on the Dart and hit the bullseye at Gleeson’s, where the rare roast beef lunch was as nice a dinner as I ever ate in the middle of the day.

But before I tell you who I met, let me tell you who I met first on the Dart. She was about 15 and was sitting with her friend. The young girl lit up a vape. The smoke caught my throat. The smoke smelled of strawberries with vanilla grace notes.

I know the custom in most cities is to mind your own business, but I couldn’t help myself. “Dem yokes will kill you,” I said in my best Kerry patois. I just can’t help talking Kerry when I’m in the big smoke.

“I know they will,” replied the teen vaper. “I’m trying to give them up.”

And who did I meet in Gleeson’s, only Hugo MacNeill. We go back a while to days of covering big games in places like Cardiff. Our greatest ever full-back is great company. But all the way through our chat, there was a question lining itself up to come out of the tunnel.

I was fairly certain Hugo never dropped a ball. I asked. He thought for a while and said with head lowered: “Once, in Cardiff against, Wales.”

But no harm came out of it. Good luck to Ireland today, and wouldn’t it be lovely to be Six Nations champions by teatime?

I had the beef eaten up before Rachael Blackmore won the first race both in Gleeson’s and at Cheltenham. I backed Rachael.

I knew immediately what the money was meant for. Carol Liston O’Connor is one of our own. Her family are from north Kerry and west Limerick. The Bomber Liston is her cousin and is backing Carol all the way.

Carol was diagnosed with motor neurone disease and is now a wheelchair user. Her plan is to seek further treatment. Carol’s husband Liam is doing his very best.

Their children, Ellie-Mai (11), Molly (9), Liam-Óg (7) and twins Mikie and Paddy (4) are very good to their mum. So maybe if you’re thinking of Charlie Bird, who died with MND and spent his last days bringing awareness to all of us, think too of Carol.

Donations can be made through her GoFundMe page or through the bank account at BIC: BOFIIE2DXXX IBAN: IE81BOFI90437658072154.

Liam O’Connor and Brian Kennedy are the lead acts alongside Susan Browne and The Studio Singers at a fundraiser at the Devon Inn on April 12.

Keep it going, Carol. We’re so proud of you and your family.

‘The powers that be are sure we are all making a fortune, but they forget the insurance and electricity is not confined to Saturday nights’