It was another cold night outside the door of Donleavy’s pub. The three lads were very happy they were inside. The air inside Donleavy’s was warm and cosy. The pints were cold. You’d imagine the whole mixture shouldn’t work. But it did. Worked very well.
Outside, winter was doings it’s able best to move into Spring. It had allowed some daffodils to open their vivid yellow heads. It had added a couple of hours of daylight to morning and evening. It had lulled the farmers into ploughing a few fields. But every now and then, it brandished a cutting wind from the north or from the east. A wind that would get into your head, would make your legs feel heavier and would make you aware that your feet could act as low temperature measuring devices. Inside Donleavy’s was a sanctuary from all this. With doors shut, blinds drawn and a real fire burning in the grate – outside could be briefly ignored and temporarily forgotten. All was good with the world in Donleavy’s.
JP, Mono and Rasher were unusually quiet. Not much had passed by way of conversation, interchange, or debate. Each seemed to be content in their own thoughts – or lack of them. As was JP’s wont – he gazed into Donleavy’s array of spirit bottles – alcohol from all over the world – and waited until the muse of imagination, contemplation or conversation infused into him. The volume in each of their pint glasses was getting low, which was a much more critical scenario than any of the deeply philosophical subjects that might ensue. However, the situation was rescued by Rasher, who with a finger in the air, gave the well-understood guidance to Donleavy that further incoming was required. With a request in the order book and the knowledge of the much-admired efficiency of the master barman – the atmosphere relaxed again.
“The spectrum”, that was all that JP uttered.
The other two amigos were well used to this approach. JP would leave something hanging in the wind waiting for one of them to take a hold of it. Rasher and Mono on the other hand would resist for as long as possible giving JP the satisfaction of taking his bait. Eventually one of them would cave in. Tonight, it was Rasher.
“The young fella at home is a dab hand at the Science. Tellin’ me all about IRs and UVs. Is this what yer witherin’ on about, JP?”
JP took another swig from his pint. They all did. JP waited a minute before replying.
“I was actually thinkin’ ‘bout the neurological spectrum.”
“Oooh”, the two lads said in unison. “The neurological spectrum – fancy that.”
“Well, aren’t you the clever clogs all the same. Able to pronounce big words like tha’. I doubt yer Mammy taught ya about neurological spectrums when ya were in the pram suckin’ yer baw-baw.”
JP let all their responses drift over his head. He was thinking of pointing out that the plural of spectrum was spectra but reckoned that would leave him open to further slagging.
JP went at it again.
“Let me tell ya what was in me thinkin’.”
“Go on.”
“We’re all ears.”
Donleavy arrived with pints and there was a brief diversion from the current conversation while discourse on the weather was shared with the barman slash proprietor.
They reconnected with the topic under consideration.
“Ya know the way they’d say ‘yer man’ or ‘yer woman’ is on ‘the spectrum’?”
The two boys took this in for a while.
“Yeah”, said Mono. “If someone was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”
Rasher didn’t want to feel left out so he also chimed a response.
“Too right. If someone was missin’ a few slates. Not the full shillin’. Not sure we ever used the spectrum word. Modern thing. More PC if ya know what I mean.”
JP let it all absorb and percolate.
“Well, here’s the thing. We’re all on the spectrum.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. There was a pause.
“Have you been watchin’ ‘Life of Brian’ again JP. We’re all individuals. Yada yada.”
There was a bit of a silence. Rasher and Mono bore the frowns of being offered a moniker that they didn’t feel sat well with them. There was another synchronous visit to the pint glasses while they let this spectrum thing ruminate.
JP went for another round. A double round really. One round involved a finger in the air to indicate to Donleavy – that further incoming of pints was required. The other round involved some clarification on the spectrum thing.
“Have yiz heard of the bell curve thing?”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. Some waves of recognition and uncertainty bashed against each other. Mono went for it.
“Is this the thing that’s shaped a bit like a bell, and we’re all supposed to be inside hangin’ on to the clapper for dear life, so we don’t get fecked out of the bell. “
“Hey”, Rasher interjected quickly, “is that where the phrase ‘we legged it like the clappers’ comes from?”
JP attempted to put a bit of order on things.
“Well, I’m not sure of all that exactly. But yes. Most people fall within the big dome of the bell, but some people are out at the edges.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
A few waves of certainty and understanding broke on the mind’s beach and became replaced by ebbs of confusion.
“Jayzus, JP. Are we talkin’ about a bell or a spectrum. I’m totally shaggin’ confused now.”
“Yeah. One minute I’m hangin’ on for dear life to a clapper in a bell and the next minute I’ve been dropped on to a bleedin’ rollercoaster slide on some bleedin’ graph “
“Yeah, JP. What’s going on? Me and Mono are bleedin’ exhausted. This was supposed to be a few quiet pints in Donleavy’s. “
“Yeah, JP. A couple of jars to ease ourselves from the bleedin’ turbulence of life. But what’s happened? Me and Rasher are full out knackered. Great night out this turned to be. “
JP let them play themselves out. A bit like a fisherman giving them as much line as they wanted. Eventually they’d tire themselves out and go quiet. At this judicious point he made a request for Donleavy to traverse the length of the bar to engage with them. This hand signal was a slight waving of the finger and not to be confused with a more erect and assertive pointing of the finger. The latter being associated with ‘more pints please’, the former – ‘come ‘ere a minute, I wanna talk to ya’.
Donleavy eased his big frame along the back of the bar counter as effortlessly as a kid on roller skates.
“What’s the craic lads?”
JP engaged his barman with a question as he had done on multiple previous occasions.
“Donleavy – we’re lookin’ for your objective opinion here. Do ya think that all of us lie on the spectrum or is it us on one bell curve and others on a different bell curve?”
“Jayzus, JP that’s a very bleedin’ philosophical question. I better check the keg to see what’s been in them pints I’ve been feedin’ ye with “
The three amigos waited for Donleavy to get his neurons fired up to speed with the thread of the conversation. A few moments passed – the tension of which could at least be reduced by another synchronous visit to the pint glasses.
Donleavy finally gathered his thoughts.
“Well – the way I see it – we’re all one big happy global family – colour, creed, sexual orientation, ethnic background, physical or mental capacity, beer or stout drinker, wine or spirits. We all bleed when we cut ourselves shavin’. We all fart when we eat too much cabbage. So – guess I’d fall in with us all being on the one spectrum. “
JP puffed his chest out with pride at the endorsement of their respected bar proprietor. Rasher and Mono might question JP’s rationale but never that of Donleavy’s. It was a moment of clarity and consensus.
Donleavy suddenly turned around when he was halfway up the bar.
“Hey. Hold on. There are a couple of exceptions. “
JP’s face immediately turned a shade ashen.
“Them bleedin cocktail drinkers…and them Cork feckers.”
They raised their glasses in agreement.
“Too right. “
“Abso-bleedin-lutely. “
“A truer word has never been spoken.
“Will we celebrate that, lads?”
“Have to. “
“A one and one?”
“Deffo”
“Wish I could join ya, lads. Have a battered sausage for me. “
They drained their glasses. Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 