It was another quiet midweek night in Donleavy’s. The yardstick always was if you could hear the conversation on the non-smoker side of the bar. When the smoking ban came in Donleavy had creatively extended his massive wooden bar counter and with a combination of civil architecture, air flow engineering and plastic see-through curtains had arrived at a seamless bar counter experience. The Health and Safety people had been all over it looking for flaws. Because this was not what the law was supposed to be all about. The law was about banishing smokers to some cold barren place where they could come to know the error of their ways. Serve out a period of exile until they could demonstrate their rehabilitation, and only then might they be re-introduced to the light and the heat.
Of course, it didn’t work out that way. The smokers haven became the spot with the patio heaters that people could congregate around. And the outside TVs. And the comings and goings. And generally, the area for enhanced ‘craic’. And many was the non-smoker who migrated in pursuit of the ‘craic’. And Donleavy was the master architect of it all. He’d expanded his footprint and now had two pubs for the price of one. And for a man whose engineering and architectural and building skills were all gleaned from B&Q leaflets – he saw off all the Health & Safety men and ladies and left them scratching their heads.
Rasher and Mono had given up smoking when the price of a box of fags went through a fiver. So, they didn’t much care one way or the other. But JP was never going to give up his beloved pipe. And where JP went it was an unspoken understanding that Rasher and Mono would follow.
And so it came to pass that on a quiet Tuesday night our intrepid warriors were nursing their pints of Guinness while JP send smoke signals to warn of an impending war dance.
“All politicians are liars.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. Where had that come from? It had been almost tranquil up to this. There was a pause that had nearly reached a full-term pregnancy by the time Rasher gave birth to a question.
“What’s bitin’ you? Someone turn down your plannin’ permission, or wha’?”
The two boys had a single guffaw.
“Nope. It’s just a fact. And they’re gettin’ worser and worser.”
“Have to grant ya that.”
“Yeah.”
“Sure yer man Trump has done so many u-turns he’ll meet himself coming backwards.”
“True for ya.”
JP blew a few more smoke signals to make the cavalry nervous.
“D’ya’know”, he narrowed his eyes to show his serious intent, “I was looking into it.”
“Into wha’, JP. The next-door neighbour’s bedroom window?”
“Ahhhh ya pervy little deviant.”
“Mind you – couldn’t blame ya – she’s a looker OK.”
JP took the pipe out of his mouth and looked from one to the other with a look that would make a nettle wilt and give up its sting. There was an unspoken beckoning from Rasher and Mono for JP to continue.
“D’ya know where the word comes from?”
“Pervert?”
“No – ya clown – ‘politics’ – do ya know where it comes from?”.
Momentary silence
“Leinster House?”
“Dail Eireann?”
Momentary silence. Sound of exasperation.
“Mother of the Divine. Give me strength to carry on. It comes from the old Greek and Latin words”.
“Ah Jaysus JP. Is that what ya meant? Sure don’t all words come from either the Latin or the Greek?”, replied Rasher shoving his chest out.
“Except for the curse words”, added Mono quickly. “They all come from the Northside.”
JP looked away from them and into the distance. Then slowly he lasered a stare on each of them.
“Can I continue?”
“Away with ya.”
“The word has gone from meaning …looking after the country like what the Greeks meant… to looking after the citizens like what the Romans meant… to being shrewd up to being downright deceitful like what it means now.”
“Jaysus, JP. Them’s strong words.”
“Fightin’ talk that.”
“Must be more than just the plannin’ permission. Must have turned ya down for somethin’ else?”
JP looked away again into the middle distance.
“But amn’t I right? We don’t have to look as far as Donald Duck. We have fellas in Leinster House who have been shown up as liars in tribunals and then when they get back to their comfy seat in the House – they rear up on their hind legs and lecture us all for saying such bad things about them. And wha’ do we do next……?”
“We vote them back in.”
“And why do we vote them back in?”
“Cause they’re schemers… and sly… and cunning… and glic…..and…”
“And we get wha’ we deserve.”
Silence. More silence.
“Depressin’ that.”
“Yeah. Let’s go to the chipper for a batter burger.”
“Sold.”
JP@Donleavy’s 