We Ain't Ready For Reform

Nor nudity neither, I might add. After a short run of six months, the infamous Stringfellow's lap dancing club on Dublin's Parnell Street has closed their doors. Folded their tent. Packed their bags. And their PR man is astounded.

Operated by Sabley Taverns Ltd., the glorified strip club put down roots in a residential neighborhood, and the Irish mammies went berserk. Mr. John Sullivan, ace PR operative, was horrified. After all, in his most studied opinion, that sort of protest would never happen in a modern capital city. So provincial, those Irish women, protesting three nights a week out in front of the place. At the grand opening, when celebrities turned up, they had the audacity to jeer.

And now for the backstory. Peter Stringfellow is British, with a remarkable resemblance to Hugh Hefner, complete with ditzy bleached blondes adorning his arms. His strip clubs are supposed to be more classy, like the old Playboy clubs, and he attracted a fair share of D-list stars to his London nudie spots. When he sought to branch out to Dublin, he figured it was a sure thing, what with the Celtic Tiger and tourists and all. Pity he did not reckon on Irish modesty, which has most definitely not gone away.

When the place first opened, they had nary an Irish girl grinding her arse into the customer's crotch. Surprised they were, to find no takers for those job openings amongst the natives. Had to import pretty young and desperate things from the poverty stricken regions of Eastern Europe. You'd think that might have been a bit of a clue, but they must have missed the signs.

The mammies were not satisfied to merely protest, either. They went to court to challenge the club's liquor license. How's that for provincial, there, Mr. Sullivan? Crying, he is, now that the ladies won their battle, wagging a finger at them for shutting down an Irish-owned and operated club. Shame, ladies, for putting one hundred people out of work. And most of them Irish. Shame on you for noting that there are more than enough jobs in Ireland these days, and girls don't need to go around demeaning themselves.

The pack of mammies went and shamed the corporate clients Sabley Taverns was counting on, and the much needed clientele stayed away in droves. Can you imagine, going off to a strip club and there's your granny out front? Christ Almighty, you'd march yourself straight away to confession and still not dare look her in the eye for the rest of your days. And if you'd think you were safe if you made sure she was home for the night, think again. "Saw your boy last night," Mrs. Cleary would say to Granny. "Going into that nudie club, to look at naked girls." You'd rather die than have that played back at you.

And so Sabley Taverns must close shop, because the women were out front protesting night after night and what man in his right mind would dare to cross Stringfellow's threshold. Mr. Sullivan is horrified that such small-minded thinking has caused the demise of a lovely club. As a PR man, Mr. Sullivan, it's best to know the market you're selling to, and I'd say you skipped a step when doing your homework. Thought things were different because people don't go to Mass every week? Ah lad, Ireland still ain't ready for nudity.