The atmosphere in Doneavy’s was relaxed. The days were getting longer and warmer. The daylight was still streaming through any windows that Donleavy hadn’t curtained off. Everyone’s spirits were lifted a little with the advent of Summer. The daffodils had announced their arrival and then been dead-headed weeks ago. Early crops of potatoes were giving air to their dark green leaves and giving the weeds a good run for their money. The first tomato flowers were appearing and promising to turn into a nice juicy fruit in a short time. Promise was in the air.
None of these horticultural items occupied the minds of our famous three as they occupied their usual barstools at Donleavy’s counter. Much more pertinent was the slow convection taking place with the creamy waves finding their way atop of the black volumes in their pint glasses. Each had his own thoughts as they waited for that line of settlement between black and white to be razor sharp. Each would show time-honoured patience to arrive at the pint where optimum separation had occurred. This was the moment of perfect relaxation, and each took the opportunity to allow life’s gears to drop down and coast to a near standstill. JP gave an almost imperceptible nod and Rasher and Mono took the signal that resulted in the most perfect harmony and synchronous pint-drinking that you are ever likely to witness.
Pint glasses were replaced on beer mats and relaxed sighs were emitted. All was good with the world. A contented silence rested between them. There was no immediate need for conversation to be initiated. Maybe not even on this pint. JP stared ahead into the big mirror behind the array of spirit bottles that were on display behind the bar counter. Somewhere in that mirror was typically a focal point that got his neurons dancing. Tonight was no exception.
“Lads. Isn’t bureaucracy killing the world as we know it?”
It was fired out as a rhetorical question. Rasher and Mono let it echo around their heads for a while to see whether they’d bother with a response. It didn’t matter. If they didn’t, JP would just granulate his argument to another level. Truth be known – if neither talked – JP would entertain his audience with a monologue. But friends needed to help each other. So that’s exactly what Rasher did.
“Jayzus, JP. Wha’ kind of a bleedin’ question is that? Sure everyone feckin’ knows bureaucracy is there to grind ya down so tha’ all tha’s left of ya is a worthless stump.”
Mono helped as well.
“Too bleedin’ right. Most bleedin’ pencil pushers weren’t breast fed or no-one returned their toy when they flung it outta the pram, or they were bullied in school. It’s a lifelong revenge thing. I’m bleedin’ sure of it.”
They nodded their heads and let that sink in. It was good that they found a focal point of agreement. It was such a nice day it wouldn’t have made sense to take a controversial topic that might involve taking sides. Less risk here. Much improved chance of departing the pub each of them on the same smiling page.
JP initiated another cycle of pint drinking which was accompanied by Rasher posting a finger in the air allowing Donleavy to interpret a request for further libations. JP took to the stage again.
“Bleedin’ drones.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. One of them needed to take the bait for this fishing exercise to continue. JP went back to cradling his pint and finding his preferred focal point in the bar mirror. He was the quintessential relaxed fisherman who had put out the lure and had all the time in the world to wait for a reaction. Eventually it was Rasher who, after circling the statement for as long as he could hold out, snapped at the tempting soundbite.
“What the feck have you got against drones, JP? You havin’ problems with the paparazzi now? Eh? Did the paps film ya skinny dippin’ in the ‘Forty Foot’? Is tha’ it? Have yer fans now realised that ya suffer with the cripplin’ challenge of penile inferiority?”
Mono gave a healthy guffaw in support of the response. JP issued a withering look both left and right.
“I won’t let ya drag this conversation down. I’m above all tha’.”
The two lads did some mock ‘oohs’.
“What I’m referrin’ to is how the airport was shut down a number of times recently due to ludramons flyin’ bleedin’ drones around the airport runway. I mean wha’ are they like?”
The two lads nodded in assent.
“Oh…and by the way, my tool is a thing of beauty, sculpted like some of those Italian statues of Eros.”
The two lads guffawed in stereo. Mono took up the response this time.
“Yer dead right JP. Have ya seen how small the mickeys are on those Roman statues. And remember – we’ve seen ya in the shower after soccer. Ya needed a tweezers to wash under it.”
JP indignantly tries to steer the conversation away from his private parts and back to the serious nature of the subject.
“D’ya not get where I’m goin’ with the drones and the bureaucracy thing?”
“Naw.”
“Me neither.”
“Not unless there’s a new EU rule ‘bout minimum todger length if swimmin’ in the nip.”
“Jayzus, lads. It’s bleedin’ hard to have a serious conversation.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono. This was too good to be true. Like playing tennis and someone throws up a lob that you’re standing under right at the net. Or playing soccer with the ball coming to you in front of an open goal. This was too easy. So easy that the two boys couldn’t decide which one would take it further.
“JP. I’m sayin’ this to ya as – I’d like to think – as one of yer closest friends. But if yer gettin’ a hard-on when you’re havin’ a serious conversation – or worse still – that ya need a hard-on to have a serious conversation – ya need to go see someone that can help ya. Cause it’s not normal.”
The two lads nearly lost themselves in convulsions of laughter. It was going to rank as one of the all-time great responses. Perhaps to be dragged out multiple times in the future – ‘are ya OK with the conversation, JP. Givin’ ya a good stiffy? Yeah’. Oh yeah. This was future gold.
JP sighed in despair. He decided the best course of action was to just keep going on with his train of thought. Though he had a foreboding sense that he may have lost the dressing room. It was time to drive on regardless.
“So here’s the bureaucracy thing. The airport is shut down for periods. Yeah?”
“Jayzus, JP. Don’t start talkin’ about periods, will ya. Bad enough wha’ ye’ve come up with so far.”
“Feck sake, Rasher. Yer as bad.”
It was true. The dressing room was lost. All JP could do now was make the summary point and exit quickly.
“The government, even with closed airports, said they needed to enact legislation to deal with the drones.”
The lads didn’t look like interrupting so JP quickly piped up with his next thoughts.
“The Ryanair fella, direct as ever, said shoot the feckin’ things outta the sky. There and then. Wha’ were the drone owners goin’ do? Sue? And even if they did, the Government’d still win.”
Rasher and Mono still seemed to be listening.
“There’s a time to do somethin’ and a time to flute abou’, thinkin’ of the next thing.”
Rasher and Mono were deep in thought.
Rasher spoke.
“I think we should do somethin’.”
The two others looked towards him with anticipation.
“I think we should go for a cod and chips.”
There were signs of agreement.
“Give Donleavy the nod there.”
Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 