It had been an unusual cycle of pleasant weather. Waking up to clear blue skies and warm air. Feeling the heat on your face and your neck getting warmer as the sun got higher each day. The first week had everyone in good spirits and was a constant topic of conversation. The second week saw people begin to tire and slow down. By week three people were almost deflated and visibly sagging. What a turnaround! The three lads were on their usual barstools at the counter in Donleavy’s. JP in the middle flanked by Mono on one side and Rasher on the other. The air in Donleavy’s was refreshingly cool and the lighting was subdued. A perfect escape from the elements.
What also was contributing to the feeling of well being was the three pints that were going through their magical period of settling in front of their eyes. Eddies of creamy streams were making their way in a haphazard way to the top of the glass while the black body intensified second by second. These were moments of pure enchantment. Moments to savour. And our three amigos did appreciate these times with the experience of sublime exerts in the pantheon of masterful imbibers.
So – three creamy pints with razor sharp separation of the phases now allowed for drinking to begin. An almost imperceptible nod from JP constituted the signal for arms to outstretch. With perfect synchronicity, pints were raised, lips met glasses at exactly the same time, equi-volumes were imbibed and beer mats were reengaged at exactly the same time. How many hours do they say are required to reach the level of mastery? How many pints do they say need to be consumed to achieve this level of synchronicity? Whatever the answer – these boys were the benchmark, the reference point, the gold standard, the gurus of the bar counter.
One area where individuality was totally allowed was in the realm of vocal appreciation of the quality of the pint. Donleavy always served a superior offering and the three boys expressed their respect with various levels and lengths of ooohs and aaahs.
This was the best part of the evening – that first aliquot of thirst quenching thirst quencher of the gods. JP looked around him – taking in the surroundings as if it was the first time he’d been here – as opposed to someone who frequented this stool so often that he rightfully could have claimed legal ownership under squatters timeframe occupancy.
As was his wont – JP looked to the line of bottles on the bar counter for conversational inspiration. He spotted a bottle of vodka called ‘Black Death’. That set him thinking. He looked slowly right and then left. Mono and Rasher recognised the movement and knew that JP was about to hold forth. They subconsciously looked in opposite directions away from JP in the vain hope that this might discourage him from issuing forth. As usual – it was in vain.
“What happens when we die lads?”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono. There was a momentary pause.
“Me missus looks for a quiet place where she can’t be disturbed – and yells the loudest ‘yippee’ she’s ever had the lung capacity to belt out.”
“All the people I owe money to form a disorderly queue at me front door.”
JP gave each of them in turn a long hard look of disdain. This look which would have withered the strongest of people gave Rasher and Mono a delightful thrill. Only for the fact that JP was between them and the movement would have been awkward, they would have savoured the moment between them with the highest of fives.
They each went back to the well. The glasses were returned lovingly to their respective beer mats.
‘No seriously, will we be comin’ back? How will it work.’
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher.
JP continued.
‘I mean , if we’re comin’ back, will we be higher or lower on the food chain?’
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. JP felt he needed to expand more. He was losing the lads.
‘Well – if yer rewarded in the next phase do ya come back with lots more of challenges and responsibilities and decision makin’? Is that a bleedin’ reward? Or do ya come back with an easy life where it’s all plain sailin’ and ya don’t need to exert yourself?’
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. There was silence for a while before Rasher risked a response.
‘I tell ya somethin’…’
The other two looked at him earnestly
‘….it really pisses me off when people say they wouldn’t change a bleedin’ thing if they got to do it all again. I mean to say. Did they learn nothin’?’
The other two nodded in earnest agreement. Mono felt OK to pick up the thread.
‘And what ‘bout them eejits that win the lottery…oh, it’s not going to change me… Well I tell you somethin’ – you don’t deserve to win the bleedin’ lottery then. Give it all to me. Because I can promise you – it’ll definitely change me.’
They all had a guffaw over that one.
Rasher came back with a deep philosophical enquiry.
‘Do ya think that we’d still like a battered sausage and chips after a feed of pints when we come back.’
JP and Mono didn’t have to agonise over this one.
‘That’s in the DNA lad.’
‘Best base pair of the lot.’
‘Highly evolved characteristic.’
‘Fundamental behaviour.’
There was unanimous, even violent agreement.
‘Will we head to the chipper, so?’
‘Jayzus yeah. All the talkin’ ‘bout it is makin’ me hungry.’
‘Give Donleavy the nod then.’
Just another night in Donleavy’s
JP@Donleavy’s 