JP was in pensive mood as he stared at the Donleavy’s whiskey section behind the bar. He continuously wondered why Donleavy stocked some of these brands of spirits. And where did he even get them? Like – who would be coming into Donleavy’s and saying…‘I’ll have a pint of plain and a Stronachie 10-year-old chaser’. JP presumed that the bottle of ‘Stronachie’ could even mellow into a 20-year-old before the seal would be broken. Donleavy’s just wasn’t that type of pub. Maybe – for Donleavy – it was a bit like collecting bumper stickers, or fridge magnets or foreign currency notes. Maybe it didn’t matter if anyone in Donleavy’s – ever – was to be able to way lyrically about the smoothness and tones of ‘Stronachie’ 10-year old.
JP was carrying around a stone in his shoe. The ‘Stronachie’ was a distraction to his thoughts. But he needed to unburden himself and any amount of wondering about foreign spirits and their supply chain and eventual resting place could not result in his mind finding a soft pillow. He stared at the bottle, nevertheless. It seemed to facilitate him letting go of the weight on his mind.
“Lads”, he said without making eye contact, “it’s not goin’ end well.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher.
“Wha’? The six nations?”
“The U20 hurlin’?”
“The mini-series you’re watchin’ on Netflix?”
Rasher and Mono shared a grin. Goading JP was always open season, never a closed season for this type of banter.
“Naw, lads. It’s not goin’ to end up lookin’ good for us. I know it. I feel it in my waters.”
“Jaysus, JP. First – I’ve no idea what yer witherin’ on about. But second – maybe ya should risk a trip to Donleavy’s luxurious men’s room and get rid of them waters.”
“Yeah. A god trip to the jacks might settle you right down.”
JP continued to stare at the bottles. His mood was not lightened by his drinking colleagues attempt to inject humour into his worry vein. Maybe a shot of ‘Stronachie’ was what was called for. He reckoned that Donleavy would either give him a taste of this Scotch Whisky for free or that he would charge him a king’s ransom for it. He didn’t risk it. He wasn’t willing to bet on the outcome. He wasn’t feeling at his most optimistic.
“Rasher. Mono. Look at us.”
The two boys looked around everywhere – unsure of the instruction.
“We’re here in the middle of a bleedin’ global pandemic. The worst thing to hit the world since the Spanish Flu. A complete devastation for humanity. Doctors and nurses layin’ their lives on the line every day – sometimes all day and night – and here we are suppin’ pints illegally in Donleavy’s – while millions across the world die.”
The two boys now looked at each other. JP continued.
“When they write the history books – we’re not goin’ to come out of this lookin’ good.”
The two boys now looked at each other again with raised eyebrows.
“Yaysus JP. Ya really know how to bleedin’ well add to the fun of a Thursday night.”
“Yeah, JP…and why the feck do ya think they’d be includin’ us in the history of the pandemic. Think ya’r gettin’ a bit ahead of yerself there, sport.”
JP acknowledged their comments with a sage nod of his head.
“I hear ya. I hear ya. But in our community. In our community. We’ll be hung out to dry. It will leak out that we’ve been spendin’ four nights a week in our local – but our local that has morphed into a shebeen. It won’t end well for us.”
“Jaysus, JP. Order another round from Donleavy there, will ya.”
“Yeah, JP. Lighten the feck up. It won’t leak out. It’s one of them secrets that gets taken to the grave because everyone has somethin’ to lose.”
JP considered this. It was point. That was for sure. But what was that saying? ‘Loose tongues sink ships’. Surely there would be some eejit who would break the omerta. Some gobshite who’d want to boast about the fact that he had pub facilities seamlessly through every lockdown and never wanted for a pint. The thought sent a shiver through his spine. Rasher and Mono could almost sense his unease through the medium of shared pint glasses. Rasher felt it was his duty through the bond of friendship to intervene.
“Jaysus, JP. I agree with ya on one front.”
JP was momentarily startled. Rasher agreeing on any front was not the rhythm of any evening.
“There are lots of people for whom it won’t end well. History won’t treat a number of gobshites kindly when all this is over. That’s true for ya. Bigger fish than us poor lads distractin’ ourselves from the hardship of this world with a few harmless pints.”
Now both Mono and JP were momentarily stunned. Rasher hadn’t won any prizes at school for eloquence and this was almost poetic for him. Rasher kept going and started the ball rolling.
“Orange Face and Mad Yellow Hair.”
“Yeah.”
“Obviously.”
Rasher had obviously been thinking about this subject because he was right in there with his next suggestions.
“Bloody teachers.
“Jaysus, yeah. Proper whingers.”
“Too right. Great bleedin’ role models to the kids. Ask ‘em to do somethin’ and their immediate reaction is to down tools and threaten strike.”
The lads ruminated on this one for a while. Clearly the school experience for each of them had not been the fulfilment of growing minds. There was no glow from their expressions.
“Jaysus”, Mono interjected, “imagine if you took up all the teachers in one big block and parachuted them into ICU in place of the nurses.”
“Feck, yeah…listen to ‘em…I’m not goin’ into that ward…it’s not safe…I want my union official…”
“…I realise that patient is goin’ blue because she hasn’t been connected to a ventilator…but do you realise that startin’ salaries are unequal…yeah, yeah, I hear you gaspin’ for air…but there’s an important point here…”
The lads raised their glasses and clinked over that little piece of role play. Clearly there was a pandemic history chapter here that got great agreement. Maybe even a few scores to even up that had festered and waited decades to get back to a playing field. They whirled a few more candidates for ‘Gobshites of the Pandemic’ around in their heads while they diligently supped at their drinks.
“All the feckin’ anti- crowd.”
“Feck, yeah.”
“Anti-vaccine, anti-restrictions, anti-pandemic, anti-freeze…”
“Feck yeah. Maybe Darwin didn’t have all the answers. Some snuck through.”
The boys were looking at their watches now. There was probably only time for one more group. The chipper would be shutting soon, and priorities needed to be drawn. It was fitting that Rasher would fill the final void. He’d been on a roll all night and it was good to have him get a clean sweep.
“Some of the bleedin’ journalists and media.”
“I hear ya, but why so?”
“Feck sake. The way this pandemic has unfolded – the poor shaggin’ scientists and politicians – and ya know I’m not usually easy on the political bods – but those guys and gals have been playin’ blind man’s buff. Only gettin’ to know bits and pieces along the way and tryin’ to make the best hand out of it without even knowin’ what cards are in their deck. And wha’ do some of the journalists do – rip into them. How would the bleedin’ journalists feel if someone took all their words away and told them to write an article for the paper.”
The boys nodded sagely.
“Jaysus, Rasher, yar good tonight. Ya have more passion in ya than a stud locked in with a pack in heat. But we need to leg it if we’re going’ to make the chipper.”
“True for ya. Give Donleavy the nod.”
The lads drained their glasses and made their way through the covert exit of the back room and the store area and out into the darkness of the rear yard.
Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 