It was strangely quiet in Donleavy’s. Maybe because it was in that weird time between Christmas and New Year. People overspending coming up to the break and then trying to keep some dosh aside for ringing in the following year. All this meant that there were a lot of empty bar-stools and chairs in Donleavy’s. The Three Amigos were in their hallowed havens at the bar. The stools could have had ‘JP’, ‘Rasher’ and ‘Mono’ engraved on the wood as no other punter would be brave enough to sit in these particular spots.
The boys nursed their pints.
“Bleedin’ dead in here tonight.”
“More craic in the morgue.”
“We should go get a slab of cans and find a busker.”
“Yeah – we could sing with him and earn the money back for the slab.”
“Sounds like a plan. Will we go?”
Silence.
“Well – let’s have a few pints first and think about it.”
“Sound – call Donleavy.”
As Donleavy pulled the fresh incoming, the hiss of the Guinness taps almost echoed around the pub. It was a long time since sound carried so far in the pub without meeting something to absorb it. The boys stared off into different directions. Vision vectors crossed over but never aligned.
“Backstop.”
“Wha’?”
“What the hell is the backstop?”
Rasher waited expectantly for an answer. JP and Mono looked at each other in various expressions of confusion.
“Give us a clue here. Only backstop I know is ‘Arret’.”
“’Arret’?”
The other two looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
“You know…’Arret’….diarrhea drug….backstop…”
“Aaaah…”
They went back to supping their pints. Silence again gained the upper hand in Donleavy’s.
“Why were you asking Rasher?”
“’Cause I’ve no feckin’ idea what it is. They’ve been talking about it for months as part of this Brits Out thing and I have no clue what they are witterin’ on about.”
They went back to supping their pints. Silence gained another few notches in superiority.
“Syringes”, JP intoned to sever the silence.
Rasher and Mono looked at each other.
“Naw JP. I think ‘Arret’ is a capsule. Don’t think I ever saw it in a needle. Jaysus – you’d want to have some bad case of the trots to need a needle. Need a skinful of bad pints and some rancid kebabs for that.”
JP stoked his pipe and blew a few avenues of smoke before he gripped the pipe firmly in his teeth and formed his response.
“The nephew. Wife’s sister’s boy.”
“The pharma boy.”
“Same one.”
“Executive type. One that likes the smell of his own farts.”
“Same one.”
“Shit comes out in sealed plastic bags.”
“Same one.”
“Well – what about him?”
“Syringe – backstop.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono shrugged while returning the look. Both looked at JP.
“OK, JP. You have us. No idea where all this is going. You’re witterin’ man.”
JP took another long puff of his pipe and holding the pipe bowl with one hand and using the thumb of the other hand he repeatedly pointed at his own chest.
“JP never witters. JP is always directly on the money.”
“So start making sense man.”
“OK. The nephew told me that the backstop of a syringe is the bit that prevents the stopper coming out of the syringe barrel. Now – doesn’t that make the Brexit backstop clear?
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. Quizzical eyebrows went up and down like waves. Rasher went to speak. Mono intercepted him with a windscreen wiper finger. It just wasn’t worth it. Life was too short and not enough Guinness had been drunk. Silence went up even a few more notches. Any further and it would be ringing a bell.
“So what about the Brits Out thing?
“They sure screwed up there. Do the Brit politicians not realise that the electorate were only jokin’? Pulling the piss with them.”
“Naw. They keep goin’ on about democratic mandate and the will of the people.”
“Gobshites. Don’t the Brit politicians realise how referenda work? You ask the people a question. The people give an answer. But the answer is to screw the government over as much as possible.”
“Yeah. It’s not personal. It’s just business. “
“It’s the same as voting out a current government.”
There was a collective guffaw and supping of pints. Each in his own mind was reaching back to some previous memories.
“Do the Brits not know that its OK to have another referendum. That the first vote is a protest vote and you only get the right answer the second time.”
“I don’t think they have much referendum practice.”
“Remember Nice Treaty?”
Guffaws. Laughing.
“And the Lisbon Treaty?”
More guffaws. Increased laughter.
“And the abortion referendum….?”
“That one took a while to get to the right answer.”
“What about divorce?”
“Yeah – that took a couple of go’s as well.”
“The poor Brits – they’ve had diplomacy for too long. They think people say what they mean. How are we going to get them to understand that you just keep going with another referendum until you get the right answer?”
Many guffaws. Belly laughs.
“Order more pints there.”
“Yeah – this Brexit is better than any soap opera.”
“Naw. SciFi. With the Maybot as Hal.”
“Aces.”
“Let’s go for a spiceburger.”
“Sound.”
JP@Donleavy’s 