Dublin for The Night Owls: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

A room lit like a subway car, red leather and a drum kit, with duck roasted over Irish fire and a cocktail list that does not explain itself.

The pub-venue the city's bands came through, two rooms and a late bar; whoever is on, the main room sounds right and the pint is fine.

A former working men's club on the river with a different room for every mood, a roof terrace and a floor that goes until three.

A Middle Eastern brunch of shakshuka and halloumi in the Capel Street room, the one that does not mind you arriving in last night's shirt.

A cocktail bar down a flight of stairs with a door you have to find, leather booths and a list that leans on Irish whiskey.

The club in the Georgian mansion's courtyard, house and disco under the arches until late; the smoking terrace is where the night gets planned.

A Sunday roast in a Stoneybatter pub that takes its beer and its menu seriously; the scotch egg and a craft stout get you upright.

The old horse-fair square under the Jameson chimney, with the Light House cinema and the Cobblestone at the corner for the evening session.

A Victorian pub with a comedy club upstairs every night, where half the Irish comedians you know started; cheap, close, and nobody is safe.

An early house licensed to open at seven for the dockers; a pint or a coffee with the night-shift crowd, then a breakfast roll from the shop next door.

A bench by the duck pond for the sun, the bandstand and the bust of James Joyce, while the city gets to work around you.

Potato pancakes wrapped round beef and Guinness stew, the last Irish plate before the Airlink bus from the quays.