To those timorous souls who are ill-equipped for a Dublin drinking bout, the heady heat of an alcohol-fuelled, smoke-filled bar on the skirts of the river Liffey might seem like an inferno (of Dantesque proportions) – but not Honey and Bessie. On the day of my arrival, Sullivan’s was jam-packed with market traders in sluicing their tonsils and oiling their throats after their morning’s work …