A heavyweight British pub chain is looking for a slice of Dublin'snightlife. And it is the new breed of "virties" it is targeting - virtualtwentysomethings who work hard, play hard and want theclubbing experience without leaving the pub. Derek O'Connorreports

Going out in Ireland has changed irrevocably in recent years. The motivations that drive the majority of our social outings may remain as basic as ever - we like to meet people, to have a good time, to booze our way wantonly into oblivion in doomed attempts to attract the opposite sex - but the arena of play has changed beyond all recognition.

These days the average Irish bar offers an all-in-one entertainment package for the cost of a few over-priced pints. Why drag yourself on to a club when your local is serving until 2.30 a.m., as well as offering an in-house DJ and lashings of ambience on tap? The days when the Leeson Street strip represented the height of after-hours sophistication (a sobering thought, if ever there was one) are long gone - and the superpub is king. Some queuing, however, may be required.

The recent announcement by British pub management heavyweight Chorion that it intends to bring its Tiger Tiger franchise to a premises on Dublin's Eden Quay (the former site of the Laughter Lounge), throws another contender into an already packed, notoriously ruthless game.

It is the first time in some years that a major UK player has attempted to take a slice of Dublin's lucrative bar scene, and many will be keen to see how the Tiger Tiger brand fares in one of the capital's busiest thoroughfares. Indeed, while word in the trade suggests that the number of lavish new bars has reached saturation point, customers appear to feel otherwise; most nights, business remains brisk.

On the other hand, most of Dublin's night-clubs have been feeling the pinch of late, which can be attributed directly to the extension of closing hours in recent years.

"There's a new generation of customer out there," says Jimmy Costello, director of Irish club promoters Strictly Fish. "Until 12 at night they can watch their TV, have their late dinner, chill out when they come home from work, whatever. Then they can walk into one of these late bars and it's kicking. They don't need to go on to a club.

"The owners of these places know these guys are out there, and they're adjusting for that. They're a lot more aware of a turnover crowd, whereas before, by 11.30, everybody was out. Now they're turning over a six o'clock crowd, a nine o'clock crowd, a 12 o'clock crowd. That's the way it is on a Friday and Saturday night these days."

Tiger Tiger's success in the UK - its flagship London venue alone sees some 15,000 customers through its doors every week - stems from its targeting of the new generation of customer identified by Costello. It likes to call them "virties", or "virtual twentysomethings". Your average virties, according to Tiger Tiger, are "in their mid- to late 20s, are part of the new economy, are proud to be web-wise, and have a work-hard, play-hard mentality with a desire to spend their chunky salaries out on the town".

They hanker, apparently, after Prada and Gucci, but shop primarily at Oasis and French Connection, go out four to five times a week, have taken out a pension but won't plan past tomorrow and are, at heart, deeply conservative.

Ireland, handily enough, is positively overrun with the little devils.

Not that all this is a revelation to the new wave of home-grown publicans. Having firmly rejected the crumbling ambience and snug smokiness of the quintessential hostelry, today's Irish pub is sharp, slick and tailored to every need.

When a savvy younger wave of publicans - Hugh and Declan O'Regan of the Thomas Read Group and Liam and Des O'Dwyer of the Capitol Group, for example - first entered the game at the turn of the last decade, few of the country's drinkers realised that a revolution was afoot.

"Back then, a lot of younger people were simply pissed off with going in and sitting in a pub with smelly, crusty seats and flies buzzing around," says Costello. "There's only so much of that you can do. People were starting to organise their own events, spending money travelling overseas to go pubbing and clubbing - and the pub owners realised they had to react. They had to meet this demand and offer better facilities."

The new kids on the block - such as the O'Regan-owned Hogans (formerly The Hogan Stand) and Jay Burke and Eoin Foyle's The Globe, both on Dublin's South Great George's Street - offered a fresh, pseudo-European vibe, coupling stylish, minimal architecture with a laid-back atmosphere that immediately drew in the children of the then nascent Celtic Tiger.

"I think we were there right at the beginning of a trend, and we were very lucky," reflects Declan O'Regan today. Then new to the trade, Declan and Hugh had already successfully transformed an ageing city centre non-starter, Flannery's, into the tremendously popular Temple Bar, pointing the way forward for the city centre's revival as a drinking hotspot.

"OK, we might have come at the right time, but it was going to happen anyway," he says. "It was our first time out, we were young, we had a lot of ideas and enthusiasm - so I suppose it's obvious that we were going to bring something different to the table."

That "something different" has since become the industry standard. Freshly minted superpubs of all shapes and sizes can now be found throughout the country, offering exotic beers, pounding tunes and overpriced craic to hundreds of thousands of spend-happy punters.

While the overall package may vary from the sublime (the Capitol Group's recently refitted Café En Seine, on Dublin's Dawson Street, is a truly impressive sight to behold) to the truly hideous (take your pick), the bottom line tends to remain somewhat straightforward - pack 'em in, make 'em feel nice, and rake in the loot.

"It's not just about selling pints any more - it's about keeping people happy," says Costello. "You're selling a lifestyle option."

So how will Tiger Tiger - with its 15,000 sq ft premises and several themed bars, catering for both the chilled out and the mad for it - fare on one of Dublin's most over-subscribed drinking strips?

"There's been a lot of people looking at the Irish market for a long time," says Costello. "And there's no question that these guys are going for it big time, taking a large space right beside several very successful bars. I think it's going to suit that area really well.

"Yes, everyone's competing for the same business, but the market is still huge. At the weekend, there are queues to get in everywhere. These guys aren't stupid, they know what works."

Question Declan O'Regan, the unwitting father of Ireland's superpub generation, about his legacy, however, and he sounds positively wistful: "Bring back the old codger pubs, I say. The only thing that's been really bad about this newer wave of bars is that a lot of the older ones have either been put out of business or modernised beyond recognition - and we've probably been inadvertently responsible for that, to some degree.

"OK, it would have happened anyway, with all the development that's been happening over the past few years, but the tendency with the newer bars has been to over-sanitise the environment. The soul factor is completely missing. It might surprise some people to know this, but it's not necessarily just about the money."

With the inn crowd

The first-time regular:

Who? This is the punter with the innate ability to walk into a superpub that's been open for roughly five minutes, order a pint, and manage to look like he/she has been drinking there for years. If the beautiful people are in short supply, these will do nicely.

Chosen profession? PR, gig promoter, DJ, all-purpose eejit.

Tipple? You know - the usual.

Speciality: Sitting there looking superior, firing withering looks at all the "blow-ins". They drank here before it caught on, you know.

The beautiful person:

Who? At least every superpub should contain one unnaturally beautiful person and/or a gathering of unnaturally beautiful people, the likes of which you never believed existed in "the real world". Usually in short supply - may have to be hired in.

Chosen profession? Something vague, ephemeral and largely useless. And no, we don't mean journalism, thank you very much.

Chosen tipple? Something imported, elusive, unobtainable. And a bag of crisps.

Speciality: Sits there apparently having a far more interesting conversation than you're ever going to have in your entire life. In actual fact, they're talking about the weather and last night's EastEnders.

The pack rat:

Who? An utterly generic individual, out for the evening with his or her largely indistinguishable mates, having a laugh (or something). Neither beautiful nor plain - somewhere happily between the two. Constitutes 95 per cent of every superpub crowd. Including you.

Chosen profession? Recently unemployed IT worker (hang around - might be good for a pint, depending on the size of recent redundancy package).

Chosen tipple? Beer, followed by ill-advised excursion into spirits. Whatever everyone else is having.

Speciality: The lack thereof. Pack rats don't do "specialities".

The tweenie (or junior pack rat):

Who? An outrageously youthful-looking, carefree sort, usually accompanied by similarly fresh-faced compadres. Solely in existence to make you feel terribly, terribly, terribly old.

Chosen profession? Student.

Chosen tipple? That week's cheap promotional item - and plenty of it.

Speciality: Partying hard - then coming back for more.

The rabbit in the headlights:

Who? A mature customer who seems to have wandered in by mistake. Can range up to 80 years of age.

Chosen profession? Begrudger.

Chosen tipple? A great big dirty pint. Along with the ones he had before managing to slip past the bouncers.

Speciality: Getting stroppy to all and sundry about "yuppie pubs" - then throwing up and being ejected.