The background information should read that the sun would be shining and that the protagonists were dressed in shorts and t-shirts and had taken refuge in a bar from the intense heat and were taking a drink while wiping films of sweat from their forehead and eyebrows. But the ‘summer weather’ was not playing to the script. The ‘summer weather’ was ad-libbing. And this ad-lib approach forced the protagonists to swap out shorts for jeans and for fleeces to cover up the t-shirts. What is more – baseball caps sat on the bar counter – not to shield eyes from the sun but to protect heads from the rain.
“Jayzus lads, wha’ the hell happened summer?”
“Bleedin’ ridiculous.”
“I thought global warmin’ was supposed to make the summers hotter?”
“Well, that’s wha’ the boffins keep sayin’.”
“Well bring one of them bleedin’ boffins round here for a pint and let him look out the bleedin’ door.”
In truth – if a boffin had have looked out of the door, he or she would have seen grey clouds, driving rain, and would have heard wind swirling through the power lines. JP, Rasher and Mono were not happy bunnies – not by a long shot. They took some comfort in initiating the drinking from their recently settled pints. This was an area where they exhibited unparalleled patience. The separation of black and white in the pint glass was always an unhurried, relaxed process. There should never be any doubt that full separation had been achieved. There was very probably more intense focus placed on this than any separation that had ever been followed in a NASA control centre. Glasses were returned to beermats in perfectly synchronised harmony and expressions of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ proclaimed a sense of relaxation that at least partially made up for the pissy weather outside. They stayed in this relaxed zone for quite some time before JP, as often was the case, threw in the first comment for discussion, debate, or consideration.
“Talkin’ ‘bout weather. I went to the Springsteen concert in the Park recently and it pissed on everyone from a great height.”
“Jayzus, even ‘The Boss’ couldn’t do a ‘hello sunshine’ on it.”
“Bit of a ‘Thunder Road, wha’?”
“Apart from the weather – was it any good?”
“Bleedin’ brilliant. Whatever ‘Jelly Babies’ he’s eatin’, I want a few packets. I can hardly get up an’ down off me barstool, and he’s bleedin’ bouncin’ up and down off the stage.”
“What age is he?”
“74.”
“Feck!”
They went back to the well of their pints, no doubt wondering how they were going to operate when mid-seventies caught up on them. JP once again initiated a discourse.
“There was one thing pissed me off though….”
“Ya mean apart from being pissed on by the weather?”
“Or being shown up by a geriatric singer?”
JP shot them both a look which, as he was flanked on either side, involved a slow head turn accompanied by disdainful, facial features. Mono and Rasher enjoyed the intended rebuke. It was part of the game and the more serious the face – the better it felt that the comment was landing appropriately.
“Me bleedin’ bottle top.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
“Ya’ve lost me.”
“Yep. I’m a sad tailor too. Lost the thread completely.”
JP looked from one to the other again – this time in a more conciliatory way.
“When I was goin’ into de stadium, a young one wouldn’t let me keep me bottle top. Made me take the top off me water bottle.”
“What the feck…”
“Did she think ya were goin’ skull Spingsteen with yer bottle of water?”
“Yeah – that’s a pain in the arse tryin’ to mind a bottle with no top.”
“I said to her – ‘this isn’t a soccer match love, it’s a concert’. But she just said – ‘health and safety’.”
“Jayzus, if ya can’t mind yer own water – no one’s carin’ ‘bout yer health and safety.”
“Too right.”
“Bleedin’ soccer hooligans started all this shite.”
“Yeah – man can’t drink a bottle of bleedin’ water in peace at his own pace.”
They nodded in unison. A moment of agreement and harmony.
JP made the slightest of moves and it catalysed two other arms to join another sense of complete harmony. Another visit to the pint glasses. Another synchronous imbibing of equi-volumes followed by the return of glasses to beer mats within milliseconds of each other. Oh – if they would only add ‘Synchronised Pint Drinking’ to the Olympic slate. Well – they already have synchronised swimming and silly things like walking and breakdancing. So – ‘Synchronised Pint Drinking’ wouldn’t really be that weird. Would it? I digress. JP was just about to pitch in again.
“And if the bleedin’ soccer hooligans ruined every outdoor event – well 9/11 ruined air travel forever.”
“How so?”
Mono was frothing at the mouth to have his say on this one.
“Yer right. Yer right. Yer right. I was in The States just before 9/11. I couldn’t get over the airports out there. Most of them operated like bus stations. You could rock on up and just buy a ticket. No messin’ with bookin’ months in advance. No security checks. Ya’d be standing at McDonalds waiting for your burger with the pilot and ya’d walk back together and he’d let ya sit in his pilot’s seat for a gander. Ya’d think yer were gettin’ a Greyhound bus rather than a United aeroplane.”
“And now look at it.”
“Yeah. I’ve seen cattle steered into the crush who are treated better than passengers goin’ through security checks.”
“Yeah. And they have all these signs up sayin’ if ya even look crooked at the staff that they’ll taser ya on the spot.”
“….and they recommend y’arrive three hours beforehand….and that’s after you’ve parked the car.”
“Yeah. Sometimes yer longer on the bleedin’ airport campus that ya are in the air. It’s bleedin’ ridiculous.”
Another moment of harmony for our three amigos as they bemoaned the death of reasonable air travel. But there were much more serious issues at hand. With all the passionate sharing of air travel experiences, the volume in respective glasses had dropped below the critical re-order point. Rasher noticed it first and swiftly raised a finger towards the heavens, a gesture that was picked up by Donleavy quicker than a satellite could bounce a signal from its orbit. And before a satellite could even contemplate a revolution, Donleavy was pouring the fresh incoming order. Potential panic had been averted. A fresh complement of creamy pints was soon to be placed in front of the three lads. Normal service would soon be resumed.
Just your usual night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 