Donleavy was absentmindedly polishing glasses behind the bar. Well – polishing a glass really. He’d been turning the same glass in his hand for ages. JP, Rasher and Mono were sitting on their stools in their new socially distanced arrangement. This was their ‘new normal’. If anyone had have asked for their elevator pitch on what Covid-19 meant for them – I am sure they would be consistent in their response – ‘sitting further apart at the bar counter and drinking in an illegally open establishment behind locked doors’. Haw – who would have predicted? Who would have written the script?
Mono it was who broke the silence.
“Is he alrigh’? He’s goin’ rub tha’ glass back to sand. Should we check if he’s OK?”
“Naw, he’s grand”, JP replied, “he’s probably just wonderin’ when phase 4 can kick in so tha’ he can get back to legal openin’. He’s probably just disappointed that bar openin’ has been postponed.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right. I’m just sensitive to everyone’s mental health these days.
The other two broke into howls of laughter. Loud enough to break Donleavy’s reverie.
“Sensitive. Sensitive. Would you listen to him? He wouldn’t know how to spell it.”
“…and mental health…a few weeks ago that meant escaping a hangover after a night on the batter.”
“Ah Jaysus lads. Yiz are very harsh. Very harsh indeed.”
Donleavy sidled over to the bar counter and began wiping it down and replacing their beer mats.
“OK lads? All good? All the care safe and well?”
“All good Donleavy, an’ yerself?”
“Fine. Fine. Just keep it down a bit, lads. OK.? I don’t want any truck with the Peelers. Not when we’re so close to stage four. You good?”
“Spot on, Donleavy. No bother.”
The three amigos went back to synchronised pint swilling. No sooner had Donleavy sidled down to the other end of the bar but they were trying to catch his attention to order more incoming.
Only when the next round of creamy pints was settling in front of them could you visibly see the tension begin to drain away.
JP wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and settled himself on the stool. He took a big inhalation of breath and then let it exhale really slowly
“It is a complete clusterfuck, isn’t it?”, he asked looking right and left.
“Wha’?”, relied Mono, “the drinkin’ arrangement here in Donleavy’s?”
“Naw – the world.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
“Maybe ya’d like to break tha’ down just a tad
JP went back to staring into his pint and then took a trademark long swig. He exhaled loudly again. He belched quietly.
“Brexit. Covid. Boris. Trump. Whoever the hell is writin’ this script is pullin’ the piss in a major way.”
“Gotta be the Russians. They’re pullin’ Trump’s strings like he was a feckin’ Punch an’ Judy. puppet.”
“Naw – it’s the Chinese. They’re goin’ for the world domination card.”
“An’ wha’ ‘bout Boris?”
“Ah he’s just a feckin’ eejit”, the other two echoed in stereo.
They each went back to their pints. It was almost an instinctive reaction at this stage. One would reach for his pint and the others would reach out. And clearly the volume of the swallow had become uniform over time because each would finish their pint at the same moment. It was always said that if girls shared accommodation that their menstrual cycles would align over time. Well this was probably the male equivalent.
Rasher broke the new silence.
“But Trump is a bigger eejit.”
“Ya got that one.”
“Is he actively tryin’ to NOT get re-elected?”
“He must be. He couldn’t act directly opposite to the way a sane person should act on so many occasions in such a short space of time.”
“Maybe there’s somethin’ toxic in the orange make up that’s eatin’ the few brain cells that are still functionin’.?”
“Or maybe Melania told him they needed to go home to NYC?”
“Or Putin forgot to recharge the batteries in Trump’s head?”
“He could be an alien experiment and at night it goes…IT.IS.TIME.TO. SELF-DESTRUCT.?”
They pondered this for a while as they made inroads into their pints.
“And all Joe has to do is not do anythin’ silly.”
“You can imagine Joe’s campaign manager with his hand over Joe’s mouth all day every day. He must just keep sayin’…No Joe, Quiet Joe. No Joe.”
“Maybe the Mexicans put some Colombian marchin’ powder in Trump’s coffee?”
“Yeah I could just imagine it – you build no wall after diz amigo…”
“Pal of mine – Derek – when we were growin’ up – Derek used to talk so much he often talked himself out of the ride. Well Trump reminds me of Derek. He’ll go down in history as being the first man to Tweet himself out of the POTUS. Class one eejit.”
“It would all be bloody hilarious except for the fact tha’ there are people literally dyin’ from the lack of his leadership.”
“You couldn’t make this shit up.”
“Naw.”
“Time for a smoked cod and chips?”
“You said it.”
JP@Donleavy’s 