JP, Rasher and Mono were enjoying their illicit pints in Donleavy’s. Donleavy was clearly not having the time of his life. The constant stress of keeping a pub premises operating illegally was beginning to take its toll on the bar-owner. JP was sure that Donleavy’s hairline had visibly receded since March. Mono had recently remarked on how Donleavy’s shoulders seemed to be more rounded and Rasher was shit scared to even order drink from him – such was the risk of catching abuse for some unknown and unrecognized slight. There was no comparison with the Donleavy model of 2019 and that of 2020. Last year’s model had the feet of a dancer, the movement of a gymnast, the guile of a politician and the bluff of a car salesman. The 2020 model was just banjoed.
JP sat in his socially distanced mid-point at the bar counter, flanked by his trusty sidekicks. Rasher and Mono were drinking in perfect synchronicity with their pivot man. If ‘Synchronized Pint Drinking’ were to be made an Olympic event – then these boys would bring back gold for Ireland without any shadow of doubt. Practice makes perfect and these guys had put in the ten thousand hours.
JP put his empty glass down on the bar and within nanoseconds the echo of two more glasses completed the trinity.
“Al’right Rasher. Yer shout.”
Rasher visibly winced. He hesitantly raised a finger in the air. Within a short timeframe Donleavy acknowledged the order with a barely perceptible nod. Years of signaling required no words. Rasher allowed a long exhalation to exit.
Minutes later the order was replenished. Donleavy had not vented his stress on the three amigos. Pints had settled. All was again well with the world. JP stretched the full length of his spine, relaxed again, and aired a musing.
“Wha’s it all goin’ be like after?”
“After wha’ – after three more pints?”
“….or after a batterburger?”
JP focused his stare on a bottle of Southern Comfort that he was sure hadn’t moved from its resting spot in the last five years. No great wonder. It was popular once with some of the pretenders, but nobody went near the stuff anymore.
“Wha’s it all goin’ be like after ‘Rona?
“Ahh…yeah”
“The really big C.”
Each man was alone with this thought for a while. Pint drinking went on. Clearly these gentlemen had neurons that performed with greater clarity and efficiency when lubricated regularly with ethanol. A sweet spot arose, and the ideas began to air.
“Well – for years people have been tryin’ to get us all to use cards and get rid of cash. Guess we’re well on our way”
“Jayzus. They didn’t need to kill hundreds of thousands to get us over to the plastic.”
“That’s the truth.”
JP was trying to think what the youngsters used to drink with Southern Comfort years ago to kill the taste. He doubted even cough mixture could nail it.
“D’ya think we’ll all be nicer to each other when this is all over. I mean we’re all in this together aren’t we.?”
“Yeah. As Winston said…we shall fight with da soap, we shall fight with da masks, we shall fight with da 2 metres. We shall never surrender.”
“Hey – nice one Mono. Fair play.”
JP was just about to shout ‘Coke’. But he realized in the nick of time that his was a pocket conversation. Neither Rasher or Mono were in on this. He remembered now that the young fellas used to drink SC and Coke. The liqueur and coke probably murdered each other and created something less horrible than each of them individually. Mono started talking and brought him back to the moment.
“D’ya know. Talkin’ about the big bulldog. I was shootin’ the breeze with an aul English fella d’other day – and d’ya know wha’ he said…?”
Wha’?”, the other two replied in stereo.
“He said that this reminded him of the way his aul wan and his aul fella used to talk abou’ the Blitz in London and how they all supported each other and couldn’t do enough for each other – whether Lord or layabout.”
“…and…?”
“And they were all set – after the war – to have a wonderful society where they all valued each other, and everythin’ would be fairer and sure hadn’t they all succeeded together and were all pals.”
“Feck. I think I know where this is goin’”
“Yeah. Didn’t last pissin’ time. Every man for himself before you could say I’m all right Jacqueline.”
They drained their pints. JP gave that look that suggested it was time to go. He looked at each of them in turn and cleared his throat before speaking.
“I think it’s a case of ‘carpe diem’.”
“Jayzus, JP. I never understood tha’. Wha’ does it mean at all.”
“Very simple, Rasher. It means enjoy yer battered sausage and chips on the way home in case they bring in lockdown and ya can’t travel to the chipper.”
“Jayzuz, JP. All that outta two words. Them Latin words are bleedin’ amazin’.”
“True enough. Give Donleavy the nod there that we’re away to the chipper.”
JP@Donleavy’s 