This routine continued on for a further two months.I was still drinking in the pub on Thursday, Friday and Saturday night to take advantage of the cheap beer, as I really hadn’t got any choice in the matter due to financial constraints, after which I would head off to the many Irish bars.However, upon returning to the Oscar Wylde, instead of going directly downstairs I would remain and have a few more drinks at the bar, conversing with whomever and whatever about anything and everything.

Continued :

This would normally have been approaching two in the morning, and the bar was always packed too capacity at this time on the weekends.The bar, as stated, was relatively small but everything about it was gay orientated, from the closed curtains which obstructed ones view of the outside world, to the dimmed down lights which darkened ones view of the inside, from the blaring jukebox, to the moving disco ball, hung up high on the ceiling, flashing its illuminated beams hap-hazardly across the whole length and breath of the bar.I was basically slap bang in the middle of all this, and coming towards the end of this two month period it was starting to take its toll, because I felt as if I was breathing, sleeping and eating, morning, noon and night everything that was gay, and for somebody who isn’t that way inclined this can be quite frustrating, if not downright mother fucking disturbing.Nevertheless, possibly due to a combination of my previous seven years experience and my easy going mentality anyway, I thought that I was handling it quite well, and, oneway or the other, I tried to make the best of a far from ideal situation.