On the way out

I am not a nostalgic old moan just for the sake of it.
I do not reckon that all was better in the "good aul days".
Some was better.
The pubs were.
They smelt better. Well, they smelt different. They had a very distinct pub smell that only generations of pints spilled in paisley-design thread-bare carpet could produce. In unison with the smell of old cigarette smoke imbedded in the smell of fresh cigarette smoke.
It was a place of social interaction where the TV set would only deliver the evening news (after the angelus) and the odd sporting event.
It is all on the way out and the last remaining examples of the old style pub are getting fewer all the time.
They are mostly family owned and the next generation (understandably) made a quick kill at a time when the real estate value of the premises was equivalent to the margin made on the sale of 4.72 zillion pints.
They are now (the fickle next generation) sipping cocktails on the terrace of their Marbella villas while we are left to strain our vocal cords when trying to communicate with each other over the Premier League soccer commentaries blasting from plasma screen TVs in the soulless "superpubs".

PS: I seriously underestimated the zippiness of your average Irish granny. The blur in the feet region is indeed motion blur!