The three lads – JP, Mono and Rasher – were well into their second pint. In fact, it would very soon reach that critical re-order point. There is an imaginary line on the pint glass at about the 25% fill level where once the contents went below – this triggered a finger in the air and Donleavy would pick up the order for fresh incoming. Naturally each glass hit this mark at the same time because these lads are the Olympic Champions – the gold standard – at synchronous pint drinking. This re-order mechanism has been honed into a fine art – nay a science – over many, many years and is significantly more sophisticated than any automated feedback loop within the most high-tech engineered device could offer. This is way beyond mastery – this is majesty.
The triggered arrived and Rasher casually raised the re-order signal. No rushed operations here. Everyone knew their part in the play. Donleavy gave a barely perceptible nod of the head and commenced the sequence of pint-pulling. All was good with the world. Everyone knew their place, their function, and their value. JP let out a contended sigh as he scanned the array of alcohol bottles on the bar counter. Donleavy was a collector of drinks and spirit, and JP often found his inspiration for conversation within that collection.
“Jayzus lads. D’ya see that bottle of ‘Madison’? Feck me – that’s goin’ back a bit.”
“Jayzus, yer right. I went out with a bird once who only drank Brandy and Madison. She poured them into herself like a siphon. Nearly bankrupted me.”
“Feck. I hope she was worth it.”
“Not a bit. I was glad when she ditched me. And me bank balance was delighted.”
They went back to the reflective silence where each spun their own thoughts. JP again broke in.
“What is it with nostalgia, eh? What makes us spend so much time thinkin’ back rather than plannin’ forward?”
“Hey. Nostalgia aint what it used to be.”
“Feck sake Mono – you could come up with something more original than that, couldn’t ya?”
“Ah – all the ol’ ones are best. Isn’t that exactly what JP is sayin’?”
“S’pose yer right.”
The new pints had arrived. Donleavy laid them reverently in front of each of them in his classic detailed fashion – on beer mats equidistant from customer and bar counter edge, glass emblem facing the customer, pints generously spaced from each other and – naturally – an absolutely equal size of creamy head on each pint. There was a poetry associated with even this small act of presenting the pints to our three amigos. It was also the time for some ‘Smalltalk’ with the barman should his level of activity behind the bar counter facilitate such interaction.
“Alrigh’ Donleavy?”
“Mustard lads. And yerselves?”
“Grand.”
“Mighty altogether.”
“Deadly.”
There was a brief interlude. JP was in again.
“What do you think about when you look back in time, Donleavy?”
There was hardly a second passed before Donleavy’s reply. He was always quick on the uptake and quick on the response. Maybe it was a barman thing. Guess it had to be quick fire engagement before the next customer required his services.
“F-troop. Batman. The Man from Uncle. Flipper. The Brady’s. The Monkees. The Saint. Time Tunnel. Thunderbirds. Paulus the Wood gnome. Wanderley Wagon. How ‘bout tha’?”
The three lads visibly say back further on their stools.
“Jayzus Donleavy. You liked yer TV as a kid.”
“Not much else to do when yer livin’ over a pub as a kid.”
“Some great stuff there, thou’.”
“Magic 102. They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
“Ya can whistle that.”
“You betcha. Ya don’t even need to give me a tune.”
With that Donleavy’s drinking emporium services were required elsewhere along the bar counter. JP and his two lieutenants were left to their individual musings. JP looked to the left and then to the right and then addressed the two lads.
“So – just out of interest here – wha’ did ya feel when Donleavy rattled off all them TV shows.”
“Ah, come on JP. Yer not goin’ to go into this amateur psychologist mode, are ya? This is a barstool, not a bleedin’ couch. Wha’ the hell. Next thing yer goin’ ask me is whether I feel it in my heart or my brain or my gut. Well I’ll tell ya where I feel it, alright. And it’s none of them bleedin’ places.”
JP waited for the wave to settle before he pushed his surfboard back into the calm waters.
“Wha’ were ya sayin’ to yerself, Mono?”
“I dunno JP. I guess it brought me back. Brought me back to a time when I felt good. When I didn’t know any better. When I didn’t know about all the shite that was comin’ down the track.”
JP and Rasher let that percolate for a while.
“So we get some feelin’ of comfort when we look back, is tha’ it?”
“Feck it JP. Hold the shaggin’ pony. Yer beginnin’ so sound like a bleedin’ psychiatrist again. None of this couch shite. Ya know the bar talk rules. Ya should know better.”
“I’m just curious. That’s all. Not a hangin’ offence to be curious, is it?”
There was a longer silence this time. Whether he had meant it or not, JP had broken into a vein of reflection that kept them each with their individual thoughts. Admittedly there was a couple of synchronous visits to the pint glass – but that was only to increase the clarity of the musings. Mono looked to each of them in turn to get some signal whether it was OK to continue this train of conversation. The body language gave no warning signs, no objections.
“There’s a lot of shite in the past too.”
They both nodded.
“Too true.”
“Buckets of it.”
Mono felt he was still all right to keep going.
“….and maybe….and I’m sayin’ just maybe….the good bits….the nostalgia stuff….maybe that’s a way of coverin’ over the shite. Sayin’ – I’m OK. I have the scars on me bleedin’ back but I can still prefer to talk ‘bout the good stuff.”
Rasher looked at JP. JP looked at Rasher. JP went for it.
“Jayzus. Mono. That’s probably the deepest thing ya’ve ever said at this bar counter. We’ll have to call ya Professor Mono from now on. I’m tellin’ ya. Ya wouldn’t hear the likes of tha’ inside the walls of the university. Ya should be in there with all the other intellectuals.”
“Ah – feck off.”
“Nah. I’m serious. Ya very probably nailed somethin’ there. Proud of ya, kid.”
Mono looked around. Embarrassed. He didn’t know whether they were pulling the piss or actually praising him. He had got caught out in situations like this many times before. Softened up before the barb was planted deep in the flesh. He decided the best thing was to say nothing. Stay stum. Let them on with it. And silence did reign for quite an exaggerated length of time. But – as always – JP took it on himself to bring the conversation to heel.
“Hey Rasher, get Donleavy’s attention there.”
Rasher did as requested with the fully understood signal. Three more pints would be arriving soon.
They drained their pints. That was a safe enough action as they knew the incoming would be imminent.
“I’m going to suggest a toast when the pints arrive lads.”
Damn, thought Mono. This is where JP is going to pike it into me. Mono steeled himself for the attack.
“I’m going to propose a toast. To the future. And everything good. Because when it arrives and goes past – we’re going to block out the shite anyway.”
The other two lads looked at each other.
“Brilliant.”
“Yeah. Mighty.”
“I think ya’d make paupers of all the therapists and ‘ologists but…. feck ‘em anyway.”
The pints arrived. They raised their glasses. They clinked. They had a way forward.
Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 