There was a pub beside Emmet Bridge in Harold's Cross, Dublin, called The Old Grinding Young. My mother knew it as a young girl in the 1920s, and said it then had a swinging inn sign, with paint almost an inch thick from eternal repainting, showing an old man in 18th-century dress being fed into a mincer and coming out the other side as a young man (presumably from the revivifying effects of the beer).

The house on the site looks ancient; it's attached to another pub which has recently closed. I live in fear that they'll be knocked down and an apartment block built there. My suspicion is that this house is far, far older than the 18th century.