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Previous spread: The Boar’s Head This spread: The
Windjammer, with Shane Daly top photo and Bistro below. 7am – The Wind Jammer It was Friday. “That’s always delivery day,” said Shane Daly, the Wind Jammer’s owner in a cheerfully, husky voice. A Guinness truck had just pulled in by the Lombard and Townsend Street junction at a quarter to eight. “There’s two of them out there,” came the voice of a white-haired woman who strode by the table at which he had momentarily taken a seat. “Two of them together,” Daly said, laughing. “That’s even worse. Like buses. They always arrive at the same time.” Built between 1945 and ‘46 by the Beamish and Crawford brewery, the Wind Jammer is situated on lands that were reclaimed from the sea in the second half of the seventeenth century. Its name derives from the sail ship, and features like its porthole windows subtly nod to its nautical roots. Early houses like this catered to people working irregular hours, Shane Daly said. “It would’ve been for the dock workers.” Being next to the Westland Studios – formerly Lombard Sound – and the Windmill Studios a few minutes away in Ringsend brought in a lot of musicians too, he said. “Art Garfunkel, AC/DC, U2 made their first few albums here. They’ve all passed through here.” Anyone pulling a night shift would drop by here, said one punter, a man in his seventies who goes by Jimmy. “Hotel workers, taxi drivers.” In a black all-weather jacket and woollen hat, Jimmy was sat at a small circular table in the room’s corner, just behind the front entrance. In front of him was a fifth of a pint of Guinness, four small stacks of coins and a 30g pouch of tobacco. “I’ve been in here about 23 years now,” Jimmy said. While his friend, Bistro, who occupied a table next to him said he’s been coming in for almost forty years. Jimmy isn’t a night owl. He doesn’t pull graveyard shifts. He just likes to do things in reverse. Better to freshen up with a morning pint, rather than spend the day dry and haggard, he said. He’s been a regular in numerous early houses across the city, he says. “The Cobblestone. The Chancery. Delaney’s. From here to Smithfield and D7, I’ve had a few scoops. Everywhere I drank, I worked.” 17