Cavan town – some tips for the visitor

by planetparker

Cavan Town

Cavan is one of the oldest towns in Ulster, predating the vast majority of urban settlements in the north of Ireland by a good century and a half. In recent years it has developed frantically, but much of this development is centripetal, so battteries of soulless suburbs and housing estates are marching into the green hinterland while the town’s centre is allowed to rot and decay, becoming a no-man’s land after six o’clock in the evening, often inhabited only by surreptitious shadows and the clanging of metal shutters blowing in the wind. Any residual business activity is going to be wiped out by the erection of a spanking new TESCO store, which has been approved by the County Council’s executive and approved like lapdogs by the elected councillors. Plans are afoot for Cavan to become a new Financial Servicers centre with a specialised market in the sale of grannies belonging to councillors and senior council staff.

Litter Free??!!!

Don’t believe the propaganda – Cavan is a seriously dirty town. Every so often a group of anti-litter freaks let drop into some important local ears that they are coming to do an inspection. On the day assisgned the pubs are emptied with promises (seldom kept) of free drink in return for picking up litter and sweeping away rubbish. This is then piled into ditches and behind hedges close to local authority housing estates and the Halting Site. The inspectors arrive to an immaculate scenario and are invited to eat their dinners off the footpaths. They gush about how clean and tidy Cavan is and invariably award it a five-star rating. Once gone the rubbish is redistributed and augmented. But then the Most-Hated-Man-in-Cavan, N. Teebone, would know about casual litter in Cavan. After all, most Cavan men eat out of drawers and peel apples and fruit in their pockets. Look at the average Cavan man and you will see his pockets bulging with sweet-wrappers and fruit peelings. And we have already mentioned the Cavan lads’ aversion to throwing away condoms.

Some of my readers will remember the scene in Father Ted where the two priests hitch a lift from a lorry driven by Pat Shortt. Earlier we see Pat’s character being given a crash curse on how to open the lorry’s doors, and which lever to pull to enter its contents. Pat gets mixed up and while inadvetertly attempting to let the priests into the cab covers them in shite. I’d love if a lorry would do that in the centre of Farnham St.

Everyone knows that the stereotype of the “maen” Cavanman is a myth. The real misers in Cavan are certain Americans whom everyone believes to be fantastically wealthy and who expect everyone to bow the knee to them, but who are as “maen as cat shite”. 

There is an on-going campaign though to keep Cavan town skitter-free. This is fronted by signs bearing a crossed-out lavatory over the legend “Don’t do it here – do it somewhere else.”

Getting There and Away.

The good news is that buses arrive in Cavan town on the hour. Even better news is that they leave on the hour too. If the thought of wandering Cavan’s streets for sixty long minutes is just too much excitement, you can always stay on the ‘bus making obscene hand signs at passers by. Better still stand up in the ‘bus and expose yourself and in the District Court defend your actions as being due to “peer pressure”.

Accommodation

If you feel like a splurge why not try the admittedly pricey Vincent de Paul Night Shelter in Abbey Street. This is perfectly situated for the Bridge Street strip, Cavan town’s entertainment heart, so you can entertain any conquests in style. And the YMCA’s just round the other corner, if that’s what you like.

Those who prefer the freedom of the roads can stay at the town’s Caravan park / halting site. This has marvellous views of the town and is close to shops and pubs. It also has all the facilities you could want.

Eating Out

There are lots of reasonably-priced chew ‘n spews, but some of the best deals are offered by Mucky Mick’s BYO. The walls are covered with photographs taken from the “In Memoriam” cards of those who died from food poisoning contracted there. There are also blown-up images of the numerous bugs located on the premises by food inspectors – find a new variety and you’ll get 10 per cent off. If you can find a table try and get one as far as possible from the Gents’ toilets, which aren’t separated from the eating area by a door. Mick explained that it was taken off because the patrons found it an obstacle as they were in a rush to evacuate their stomachs.

(Seriously, there are lots of good places in Cavan offering great grub to suit all pockets, but I am afraid that my recommendations would be targeted by ‘resting’ Sendirastas for retaliation. Another problem is access. So many eateries still don’t realise that the cripple’s cash is as good as the able-bodied.

Pubs

If you’re looking for more than a quiet pint, head to The Hard Cock Cafe in Bridge Street. This is definitely THE haunt of Cavan’s horizontal joggers. In fact, if you can’t get a root here … of course you would have to be stoned to look at some of the sheilas. It really is a swamp donkey sanctuary, so you’ll need your beer-goggles, but as Holly Johnson said in the song “Relax … when ya wanna come”. Always insist on a condom, because you can never tell what dose you might pick up.

There are some pubs which are really nice and civilised drinking places and then there are those to which no sef-respecting human would go, unless on a crawl. These can usually be identified by the lack of carpet on the floor, having stone or mud floors instead. When asked why, one landlord said that it was “easier to mop up the sick offf a stone floor.” 

Also keep an eye on the change you get. at times when there are large crowds (such as the Fleadh) it is not unusual for bar personnel to “accidentally” short-change punters. And it is not unknown either for Cavan’s hostelries to be, as Daniel Defoe once wrote, “Extravagant in their reckonings”.

If you’re under age, getting a drink in a Cavan town pub is no problem. It has been said that the only issue about giving a pint to a baby is that it mightn’t be able to carry it too far.

Entertainment and Night Clubs.

If you want an atmosphere that’s truly animal, head for Bokassa’s or Crufts – where love stories begin – and end; if your expectations of the animal experience incline more towards an abattoir, and your preferences are for a dark, malodorous, overcrowded and overheated “dancing area” then it has to be Crufts. The stench of body odour and stale beer has led to it being nicknamed Smelly Nelly’s. The unfriendliness of Cavan’s womenfolk is legendary and few will just politely refuse an offer of a dance. No, you”re lucky if you get away with a snarl and some friends of mine were left scarred for life after being severely bitten. If you like your teeny-boppers teeny head out of town to the Club Tropicana. All Cavan’s night spots (like the town’s women) have one thing in common: they’re to be seen at their best with the lights off. Wuff wuff!!!

Cinema.

Cavan’s cinema is a good bet if you’ve got nowhere better to go. Films were first shown in Cavan in 1912, but for many years there was no cinema. This was an important argument for those who moaned: “There’s nothin’ to do in Cavan except get pissed”. Cinema was available thanks to the Trojan efforts of the Cavan Film Club which met in Belturbet. But that was excuse numero uno – the Cavan town bods were too exhausted after a stressful day’s sittin’-on-their-holes to go to Belturbet. The Film Club used to meet in Cavan town but evacuated to the Village by the Erne because of lack of support. And then there was the fact that many of the films shown were foreign – with subtitles – showing full-frontal nudity – and explicit kinky sex scenes, sometimes with animals … A new cinema was then built in Cavan and opened with much publicity – a multiplex no less. At the time of writing only one screen is open to the public through lack of public demand. Oh dear.  The staff are really friendly too. Tuesday is the best night to go if you’re a pensioner or a cripple, but be warned: ignore blandishments about pop-corn, sweets or soft drinks which are horribly overpriced.

Sport

Sports and Recreation buffs are amply catered for in Cavan. The town’s 8 hole golf club (they had to have the other ten filled in) is perfect for those who want to play around. This is where Cavan’s Mushroom men like to be seen. A new car-park has been built with spaces for caravans, while the local Department of Social Protection is planning to open a sub-office here so that patrons can collect their dole before teeing off. Dress code is casual but smart (in other words, fur coat and no knickers for women), yet if rumours are to be believed (and why not? – as Barry Norman claims he never said) when some of the “Lady” players get a couple of voddies inside them their under-dress code becomes, how do you say, minimalist, and they stop putting on an act that they are anything but jumped-up slappers. Bring your own keys and, like your hands, keep them in your pockets. One ill-considered grope can end up in a costly legal action and, let’s face it, if groping’s your bag, why bother with mutton when you can have lamb, Spring lamb and lots of it, at The Springs? This may be some miles out of town, but the journey is more than compensated for by the unlimited games of Hide–the-Sausage available ‘round the back. Don’t let appearances fool you here: just because they look young doesn’t mean they lack experience. Once again Safety First. Bring a new packet as the club’s dispensing machine may have run out. What’s mre it may have never had any rubbers at all in it, but most punters would be too ashamed to go up to the bar and ask for a refund, especially if the barman happens to be their brother-in-law.

If you prefer to do some human potholing but like the caves a little bigger and wider try the Rugby Club, only stay away from the toilets.

Things to see, people to do.

Pride of place must go to the National Incineration Centre for cows infected with CJD at Monery near Kilmore on the outskirts of Cavan town. It dominates the town and surrounding area with its smell. This near sickening odour doesn’t seem to upset Cavan people at all. If anything they luxuriate in it. “It’s not so bad after a while when yev gotten useto it like. In fact I like sittin’ upta me oxters in shite, an’ the smell’s nice an’ its grate for the complekshan…like”

But Cavan town is all about atmosphere, and there is nowhere better for soaking it up than Rossa Place on a Sunday morning around 3 a.m. You can hear the melismanic meows of Cavan’s tomcats as they engage in a night on the hump, while Cavan’s human lovers pursue some alfresco fumbling in doorways and alleyways. At this time of the morning you’re never far from the land of the Technicolor Yawn and the two-pot screamers.

Does Cavan town have any good points? That’s a tough one … Not all the women in Cavan are from the town or county, which means that they are friendlier. I suppose the fact that Cavan has lately attracted immigrants from many parts of the world has helped to inject some variety into the prevailing greyness. At the risk of repeating myself I cannot but have sympathy for immigrants – life must be really shitty at home if they come to a place like Cavan. Many of the immigrants are females from eastern Europe and the Baltic States, and everyone knows how Slavic women do something for me. … rrr!  I don’t know, maybe it’s their high cheek-bones, their lustrous eyes that appear capable of digging into your soul, the fact that they are always entranced when spoken to in their vernacular…