PINT-PULLING NEARY'S STALWART IS A TRUE MASTER OF HIS CRAFT

WHEN SATURDAY COMES

- BY ROY CURTIS

ON TUESDAY evening, with a million festive bulbs twinkling and twirling in an ecstatic December dance, Dublin beamed like a 21st-century Lighthouse of Alexandria.

Its torch offered a guiding light, one steering weary sailors away from the endless flotilla traversing Grafton Street's high seas to the safe port of a local hostelry.

We dropped anchor at Neary's, that timeless, tranquil Chatham Street cathedral, and allowed one of the city's supreme miracle workers - an authentic master craftsman - to work his redemptive magic.

Watching an accomplished barman or woman at work in rush hour traffic is both similar to and as gratifying as observing a superior athlete in the arena.

There is that same combination of poise and timing and technique, an ability to look unhurried in the most claustrophobic surrounds, to deliver with grace under extreme pressure, to be inspired to greatness by the impatient urgings of the crowd.

In that regard, Dave Simpson is the David Clifford or Johnny Sexton or, given that his collar is invariably, immaculately starched and that Manchester United runs though his blood, the Eric Cantona of his noble profession.

Everybody that's anybody and many of us who aren't know and love this son of Ballyfermot. He is as much a Dublin landmark as the Molly Malone statue or the twin stacks that tower over Poolbeg. And just as enduring.

Dave has been chaplain at this eminent house of porter for such an abundance of years that it would only represent the mildest surprise to discover he ministered a cooling ale to Brian Boru on the eve of The Battle of Clontarf.

HEART

This month marks the 45th anniversary of his residency, a run to rival that of the late Maureen Potter (a regular visitor to Neary's) as Queen of the Gaiety, the storied playhouse that sits barely the width of a beer keg across the lane from the pub's back wall.