Last Tuesday I said farewell to The Kitchen in the company of one of my closest friends over a few pints of Guinness while watching a small playful dog called Bobbie entertain drinkers at the bar by doing high-fives with his paws. In the soulless anti-septic chrome and glass pubs and cafés of the new Belfast there is no room for the likes of wee Bobbie. Her presence would break every health and safety rule in the book. She would blight the trendy post-modern image of neo-bars in Belfast that look more like a DFS show room with their leather sofas and designer lamps than the interior of one of those traditional little corners of escapism for the working man and woman - the good old dog-friendly smoky pub.