My good friend Colin Devlin (who introduced me to Fiachna) is in Montreal recording an album, and I?m staying in his vacated flat. Colin bet me a hundred dollars that I wouldn?t survive the week on my self-styled diet. When I arrived at his flat, I discovered a chicken suit hanging in the bedroom with a note pinned to it. It read:

Dear Bob,

This suit is your end of the bargain. Fiachna will be happy to show you a fantastic time in Dublin. But if you cave in, you?ll have to wear this chicken suit for the duration of your stay.

Cheers,

Colin

PS: Please water the plants.

Day 1 (Monday)

Today Fiachna and I mucked about, had a couple of warm-up pints, then headed down to The Purdy, one of Dublin?s many gastropubs, for a fabulous last supper. Like a man on death row sitting down to his last meal, I ordered oysters (accompanied by Chablis), tagliatelle carbonara (accompanied by a Borolo), sea bass on roasted vegetables, garlic fried potatoes and stir-fried veggies (with a full bottle of [white] Mercury from Burgundy) and a multitude of desserts ? followed by Irish coffee, a shot of Bailey?s and a Blackbush Irish whiskey (on the house).

In a spontaneous show of solidarity (or drunken moment ? you choose), Fiachna surprised me by announcing that he was going to join me on the diet. At the stroke of 6 pm the two of us ended the gluttony and officially embarked on our week-long Guinness diet. If all goes well, neither of us will have a morsel of solid food, or any liquid other than Guinness (or water), until 6pm on Friday.

We headed to Searson?s, ?the local?, for a couple of pints before calling it a night.

Day 2 (Tuesday)

At about 9 am, I stumbled into the living room of Colin?s flat to discover two beautiful Irish girls sitting at the dining room table. One was salaciously juicing fresh oranges as the other set out a full-on Irish breakfast. A place had been set for me and all was offered up. While I was surveying the spread, Fiachna arrived and informed me that this was a regular monthly gathering. Even though it was too late to cancel it, he promised to persevere with his half of the deal. We cracked a couple cans of Guinness and watched the girls eat (and believe me, these Irish lassies put the girls from Los Angeles to shame when it comes to eating). The beer was surprisingly satisfying and the company almost made me forget what I was missing.

After our breakfast of champions, I visited a local doctor for a brief assessment. He was a bit shocked by my report on last night?s alcohol consumption (note to self: remember the 50 percent rule when responding to doctor?s questions about alcohol consumption), but after taking my vital stats, he pronounced me to be in fighting form.

Fiachna and I headed to an illustrious local pub to celebrate the positive prognosis. We had a pint while the camera crew ate a HUGE pub lunch in front of us. Afterwards, Fiachna headed to the studio to mix a track for an album he?s recording with the drummer of the Flowers and the original bass player of the Pogues (and Elvis Costello?s former wife). And I headed to another pub for a prearranged meeting with Father Brean.

I was seeking council in the art of avoiding temptation, and the good Father chose to dispense it while feasting on a delicious-looking plate of shepherd?s pie. Actually he was quite a hoot and gave me the best tip so far. His advice: to plug my nose when I was around aromatic food. I responded by sticking a napkin up each nostril, then sending our production assistant out for swimming nose plugs.

After bidding adieu to the man of the cloth, it was on to Fiachna?s studio to hear a few tracks. His band mates were both there ? munching on a freshly delivered pizza.

As if that wasn?t enough temptation for one day, Fiachna insisted that we go to a party thrown by The Dubliner magazine to celebrate their ?Top 100 Restaurants? issue. Naturally, the place was lousy with food, wine and chefs. We made a few friends, then headed off for one last pint.

The Daily Count:
Pints of Guinness: 7 (or 8 depending who was counting)
Water: at least a gallon
Pees: About 15.

Day 3 (Wednesday)

Another day of temptation and torture.

A beautifully presented plate of eggs Benedict greeted me as I opened my bedroom door this morning, but naturally it was no match for a cool pint of the brown stuff which I quaffed while reading the morning paper.

After a bit of e-mailing and general housekeeping, Fiachna took me to meet a chef friend of his at L?Ecrivian, one of Dublin?s only restaurants to earn a Michelin star. As is my nature, I ended up in the kitchen where Chef Derry showed off several of his Guinness-infused dishes. Seems as though he thought my ?Guinness diet? included anything made with Guinness and he was eager to feed me. He must have anticipated my love of bacon, because just about everything from the oysters to the braised beef included it in one form or another. Frankly, it was his freshly-baked Irish soda bread that really made me weak at the knees. Chef Derry promised to pack me a box lunch for my flight on Saturday ? if I last the week.

After the demo, I headed out for a pint on my own. When I came back to meet Fiachna at the restaurant, I discovered him chowing down on plate of quail and sipping an Italian red from a fish bowl-size wine glass. THE FUCKER had caved! Frankly I was impressed that the rocker had lasted this long. And after a brief brow beating, I commended him on pacing me for the first 42 hours. After Fiachna?s betrayal, I had to endure the crew moaning in delight over a stunning lunch that Chef Derry prepared.

From there we toured a few other pubs where I learned to ?pull a pint? and met a few nice ? albeit plastered ? locals. Then after the crew stopped for a quick fry-up at the local chippy stand, Fiachna took me to a pub where he sat in on the penny flute with some traditional Irish musicians. Needless to say, a couple of pints were added to the mix.

In case you are wondering about my state of well-being, it has been a bit of a roller coaster ride. At the end of day two, I had developed a raging head ache. But it later dawned on me that it was probably due to what I wasn?t drinking ? caffeine ? then the all-day drinking or lack of food. I am finding myself vacillating from moments of euphoria to periods of grumpiness (yes, really!). And as I type this I?m feeling quite light-headed. So far, I?ve never felt drunk ? just slightly buzzed for brief periods. And one other thing of note, I can?t turn around without seeing food or references to food everywhere I look.

The Daily Count:
Pints of Guinness: 8
Water: tons, but probably still not enough
Pees: I lost count after 20.

Day 4 (Thursday)

This morning?s of