The three lads – JP, Rasher and Mono – were comfortably into pint two as they sat at the bar counter in Donleavy’s. Outside the sun had dropped and the darkness was beginning to assert itself in the evening ascendancy. The Summer season had given way to Autumn and there was a slight chill beginning to creep towards the end of the day. JP unconsciously gave that subliminal signal that resulted in each of our three heroes reaching out to embrace their pint glasses at exactly the same time, follow an arc trajectory to their lips that created new benchmarks in synchronicity, then return the glasses following exactly the same arc, and meeting beermats within nanosecond differences and with equi-volume removed from the drink. Mastery in synchronous pint drinking would be way too small a term. JP let out a satisfied aaah. There may have been some slight anal leakage as well, but no one passed any heed or notice to this. He looked around at his two lieutenants who flanked him on the barstools.
“Nights are fairly drawin’ on in.”
“Yep. ‘Member when it used to be bright ‘til half ten?”
“Yep. Doesn’t seem to be too long ago.”
They went back to their individual thoughts.
JP broke the silence once more. This time with vehemence.
“I shaggin’ hate Winter.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
“Hey. Steady on there, JP. Yer getting’ way ahead of yerself. We’re nowhere near Winter yet.”
“Yeah. Jayzus. The sunset has moved a little earlier and ya already have us battlin’ in a snow drift. For feck sake.”
It was worth going back to the pints again. On return to the beermat, Mono signalled for another round to keep the inventory ticking over. Donleavy acknowledged and set about his task with the efficiency for which he is renowned. The eyeline of the three boys was automatically drawn to the tap where glasses were being filled and exchanged with consummate skill and continuity. Three pint glasses were then left to settle for that magical separation of mystical black and smooth cream before the final topping up was completed to create another artistic expression. Donleavy gathered the triangle of glasses in his practised hands and laid them down with reverence on the three beermats which had been simultaneously relieved out their previous occupants as the lads finished off the remnants of pint number two. Donleavy always had a word for his three best customers. More than customers. Evangelists of Donleavy good news.
“Well lads. Any craic?”
“Divil the bit.”
“Same ol’, same ol’.”
“All quiet.”
“Hey. Nothin’ wrong with quiet. There’s shite hittin’ fans all over the world. Ya could be pickin’ faeces outta orifices it was never meant to inhabit. D’ya know what I mean?”
The lads concurred.
“Too right.”
“True for ya.”
“Never a truer word.”
Donleavy’s attention was signalled elsewhere, and he glided along the bar to the next customer.
JP’s mind seemed to copy and paste the world’s shite throwing fan to his reluctance to positively embrace Winter. He needed, however, to put a positive spin on things.
“It’s a good thing we have our pints.”
Mono took up the request for clarification.
“Yeah. Why’s that?”
“Because the world’s fucked.”
Rasher had a guffaw before replying.
“Don’t hold back there, JP, tell us what yer really thinkin’”
“Naw. It is. The world is gone to hell in a handbag. Wars and genocide and famine and poverty. Bloody dictators everywhere who don’t know their arse from their elbow but who love the smell of their own farts. People in charge of health who only know enough to put on the back of a stamp and still have room for a shopping list. And the way we’re goin’ about climate change is like shittin’ on yer own doorstep.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher.
“Jayzus, JP. Ya definitely did tell us what yer thinkin’. Wha’ brought all that on?”
JP looked at each of them in turn.
“Feckin’ Winter.”
“Winter?”
“Yeah. Winter.”
It was time for Rasher to seek some elaboration.
“Jayzus, JP. It’s only a shaggin’ season doin’ what its asked to do. Turn the ol’ globe away from the sun for a few months so that we love Spring even more.”
JP looked at Rasher like he was a kindergarten kid who didn’t understand toilet training.
“For feck sake. Every bleedin’ Winter gets worse. More shaggin’ extreme. Storms. Wind. Rain. Losin’ me power. Havin’ to tie things down. Sometimes needin’ to imprison meself behind sand bags. Then. Repairin’ the damage. Tiles off me roof. Trees down. Garden fecked. Is any of wha’ I’m sayin’ a lie?”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. Neither of them could disagree with JP.
“I mean to say – one of the things I loved about this little country was the weather. Yeah – I know – we kinda complain about getting four seasons in the one day no matter what the season. But tha’ was only messin’ complainin’. We never really were mega pissed off with tha’. Tha’ was just the way of it. We were actually proud that we lived in that narrow temperature band with no extreme shit. None of yer bleedin’ tropical storms. No hurricanes. No tornados. No heatwaves. No coldwaves. No bleedin’ hailstones or heavy downpours. No tropical cyclones. None of that shite. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Fuck-all.”
JP was quite exasperated. Conversations in Donleavy’s typically didn’t extend to multi-sentence offerings. Exchanges were much more likely to be cut and thrust. The ancient art of banter being executed at the highest of levels. JP gave the subliminal signal for another cycle of synchronous pint visiting. In truth, the visit to the pint seemed to have some small calming effect. There was a moment of quietness while the order of things became open to confirmation. Would JP continue his rant? Would Mono or Rasher feel that it was appropriate to respond. The next steps were up in the very uncertain air.
The decision was made JP went back into his stride.
“Ya know – when people started talkin’ first – they were talkin’ of global warmin’. And – may God forgive me – my first thoughts were that a little bit of warmin’ may not be such a bad thing. Ya know. Better Summers and all tha’. But shit – then they moved on to describe this shite as climate change. Now – tha’s a different kettle of various fish. A feckin’ hornets’ nest contained in a can of worms in hot water livin’ in a tight corner. If ya know wha’ I mean?”
Mono and Rasher nodded sagely.
“And puttin’ up a few wind turbines an’ PV panels ain’t goin’ bring home the bacon.”
There was a prolonged period of silence. Each pondering his own place in the realm of such serious matters. Finally, it was Rasher who provided an input.
“Talkin’ of bacon has got me thinkin’….”
The two other boys waited for his continued interjection.
“….a quarter pounder with cheese and bacon would be just the ticket to compliment these pints.”
JP and Mono nodded sagely.
“Yer not wrong there.”
“Let’s drink up. Give Donleavy the nod there.”
Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 