Our three amigos were now in their accustomed Covid-19 social distancing positions at the bar. Three bar-stools. Still in the same order. JP in the middle, flanked by his able lieutenants Rasher and Mono. Big difference was the two-meter distance between them and the bigger fact that the bar was supposed to be shut on government orders. Donleavy, the bar owner, could not countenance doing nothing and not being behind the bar and equally well he felt he owed allegiance to his regulars to continue to provide a haven for them. A haven in normal circumstances but much more importantly – a haven in this time of Covid-19 uncertainty. There were some of his clientele for which extended time at home could bring life into uncharted territories where the outcomes could be unpredictable and perhaps catastrophic. So – ‘Donleavys’ went on behind locked doors and darkened windows. The fact that one of the ‘regulars’ was a Garda gave at least some additional protection against the wider law.
Donleavy danced to the end of the bar to replace the triumvirate of pints in front of our gallant back line heroes.
‘Ya remember what I said lads?’
Donleavy placed the pints two meters apart.
Donleavy stood back and looked each of them in turn directly in the eye.
‘Repeat what I said to yez.’
‘Ah Jaysus, Donleavy? Do we have to keep doin’ this?
‘It’s goin’ aroun’ me head in me sleep.’
Donleavy looked from one to the other.
‘Well we’ll do it one more time. Wont we lads?’
JP sighed. Rasher swore. Mono looked to the heavens for some consolation.
Donleavy began the incantation.
‘One…’
‘This is your bar and it’s your livelihood and licence at stake.’
‘Two…?’
‘We will at all times speak in hushed tones with no whoopin’ or hollerin’.’
Donleavy delayed the next refrain and looked at each one in turn – testing for concentration and resolve.
‘So why the feck do I continually need to tell ye not to be hollerin’ down the bar for fresh pints? Eh? If it’s all so clear and ye are all so bright? Huh?’
The boys looked suitably chastened. Headmaster Donleavy had spoken. The only difference was that if detention was on the cards – the lads would have signed up immediately.
‘Sorry Donleavy’, they intoned in harmony.
Donleavy continued….
‘Three…’
‘Always enter and exit through the storeroom.’
The answers were coming thick and fast now.
‘Four…?’
‘Never just arrive without ringing first.’
‘Five…’
‘In the event of being caught by the Peelers – look for sympathy by saying it’s a funeral gathering. A Covid-19 death.’
‘Six…and the most important of all…?
Rasher couldn’t resist it. Every single time they had done this, Rasher just couldn’t keep it in.
‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with your whole being…’
Donleavy shot him dead with a laser look.
‘Six…’
‘Upon pain of permanent disbarment – never tell anyone of this arrangement – ever.’
‘Good lads. Now – enjoy yer pints.’
JP, Rasher and Mono looked at each other from their two-meter distances.
“It is ya know.”
“Wha’?”
“Goin’ roun’ me head even when I’m tryin’ to sleep.”
“Yeah, know wha’ya mean.”
They went back to the serious business of staring at pints and then more synchronised drinking. A sense of calmness and serenity began to pervade the aura around them. JP looked into the mirror again. The reflection urged him to begin the conversation.
“Where did it all start, lads?”
“Wha’ are we talking ‘bout, JP? Birds and bees? Adam and Eve?”
JP kept staring in the mirror. A serious thread was about to hem the conversation.
“No, the coronavirus. Where did it come from?”
Rasher and Mono dived in with a speed of answering that nearly took them across the bar counter.
“The weird animal food market…jumping the species”
“No – Chinese biological warfare lab.”
“Nah – it was the American lab.”
JP thought about all this. He looked to the bar ceiling. He motioned with an almost imperceptible nod to Donleavy for more incoming. He then went back to a direct fixation on a dot on the bar mirror.
“It could never be as straightforward as that lads. I can guarantee ye that there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
Rasher and Mono groaned – they had a fair idea what was coming next. They kept quiet for as long as was humanely possible. But you could sense the pressure starting to rise again. Rasher was the first one to break.
“Go on, so. What’s the theory this time?”
JP kept up a pregnant pause. A man who liked to build the columns of suspense and them swoop from on high.
“Pension Funds.”
Rasher’s groan came from his toes.
“WTF…JP.”
“I’m serious guys. Covid is wipin’ out the older generation? Yeah?”
Well…yeah.”
“So – the pension fund guys were gettin’ taken to the financial cleaners because everyone is livin’ too long. This wipes the wrinklies out. Pension fund guys back on track. Makes sense – doesn’t it?”
Mono competed with Rasher in the groaning stakes.
“Or it could be other end. It could be a world collaboration of millennials. They’re fed up with not havin’ enough housing and enough job opportunities. This increases the availability of both. Kills off some of the house owners, kills off some more of the experienced people. Opens the game up. Am I right? Probably WAM – world association of millennials.”
Rasher and Mono were drinking at a furious rate. There was nothing else for them to do. They didn’t want to encourage JP in his wanderings. But JP was in full flight…
“Or the environmentalists. Could easily be the environmentalists. Big reduction in fossil fuel use. Bugger all road or air traffic. Give the earth a rest. Could be that they think this is the only way that they delay climate change. Make sense wouldn’t it? Yeah – you’d have to suspect the environmentalists.”
Rasher couldn’t take anymore.
“Are ya off yer game JP. Have ya any notion how extreme and unlikely this crap is?”
JP turned to him and gave him a look of pity.
“Yer too trusting Rasher. There are groups workin’ in the shadows. Workin’ in the dark shadows. It might even involve the housing charities to bring down AirBnb and create more rental market. Or the US Republicans to swing the dial towards bringin’ manufacturing back to the US. Or it might even be extra-terrestrials who’re goin’ to eat us all up and gettin’ rid of the tough ones and usin’ lockdown to fatten up the rest of us.”
“JP – you wanna lay off the sauce. You’re truly off yer game.”
“Maybe, Mono, maybe.”
“Hey – are the chippers still open?”
“Yeah – but you gorra queue outside.”
“Grand – we’ll go for a batter burger so.”
“Motion carried.”
JP@Donleavy’s 