Thread by @sheilakathleen

In another thread today I mentioned the terrifying roundabout outside Kinsale, Ireland - and it made me think of maybe the greatest bartender in the world and he worked at a bar in Kinsale. Small story and it involves menstruation so no moaning ya big babies. You've been warned.

I was in Kinsale for a couple of days. Had been before as a kid. Beautiful! I was tormented by cramps. Like, clammy cold sweat. I was miserable. My friend was cavorting in pubs, and meanwhile I was back at the B&B, shyly asking, "Do you happen to have a hot water bottle?"

I'm getting texts from my friend like: "hey I met these people with a sailboat, come on down to the pier" or "we've moved the party to Patrick's house - here's the address" ...

I want to be on a sailboat. I want to be with Patrick. So I go meet up at the pub where my friend is now a regular and knows everyone's name. We've been there less than 24 hours. I'm sitting at the bar.

I am not talking loudly. I am not announcing to the bar my situation. I am sitting with my friend at the bar. The bartender is gliding around behind it like a shark. An invisible shark. I am not aware of him at all. I say to my friend, quiet-ish volume: "My cramps are so bad."

Within 20 seconds, suddenly the bartender - (who, in my memory, looks vaguely like ... Aidan Gillen) - slides a shot glass down in front of me. It's filled with a dark liquid. I am confused. "I didn't order this?" All he said was, "Blackberry brandy. For what ails you. On me."

And then glided away like a shark. There was no self-importance. He didn't linger. He didn't even want to be thanked. He gave me privacy. I was like, "This is Kinsale, and he is the Greatest Bartender In the World."