The weather had been incredibly warm. Not just in the environment of Donleavy’s but all over the northern hemisphere. There were heatwaves, thunderstorms, heat domes, El Nino effects and all sorts of other things driving the mercury to new heights. JP, Rasher and Mono were so pleased to be able to have the cool sanctuary of Donleavy’s to gain some respite from heat and humidity for which they were not trained for, not born into. The waves of heat had left our three heroes with faces that could be described – in the most charitable description – as ruddy and glowing. However, at this exact moment in time the only waves that interested them were those waves and eddies that were taking place in the three cold pint glasses that were in front of them. The black was starting to intensify, and the creamy head was beginning to dominate and press down on the larger volume below it. They never ceased to be amazed at the magic and the mystery that lay at the heart of a pint of stout.
The pints proceeded to their final phase of complete settling and separation and presented themselves as finished articles ready for consumption. It was like as if a subliminal signal was emitted as all three hands and arms reached out in perfect unison and harmony and described perfectly comparable arcs resulting in equi-volumes being consumed and returned to beermats at exactly the same time. A mastery in synchronicity honed over many years.
There was no synchronicity or even repeatability in respect of the ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’ that came next. Different days, different times, produced different pitches of satisfaction reflection. In fact, there could be even differences between pints on any given day. Typically, however, the first pint was the one that delivered the most heartfelt sense of contented relaxation. The lads then did a series of buttock equilibrating manoeuvres followed by some shoulder relaxing movements before they were truly settled in for the evening. I’m sure that mindfulness, meditation, Taichi, aromatherapy, prayer and deep breathing all have their important places in the pantheon of relaxation but if you were a fly on the wall here in Donleavy’s it would be hard to argue against these lads having discovered something truly special.
So – there they were. JP on the middle barstool ably supported by his wingmen – Rasher and Mono. Everything all right with the world. Warm outside. Cool inside. Perfect pints pulled by Donleavy, the master barman. An oasis of calm blotting out the chaos of the outside world. JP felt particularly serene.
“Lads, d’ya ever wonder why some things just seem to resist a simple bleedin’ solution?”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono. JP was off somewhere and they’d have to do a bit of work to find out where he was heading with all this.
“Wha’ d’ya mean JP?”
JP’s mouth did a quizzical slight upturn at the edge as he gazed up into the corner of the bar ceiling.
“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout the big things here. Ya know – world hunger, drought, climate change, flashfires, storms and earthquakes. None of tha’ stuff. Nah. Drop ‘er down a load of notches.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher. There was still work to do to find a ramp onto JP’s wavelength. Still – that wasn’t unusual. They just needed to stick with the task and compress his bandwidth.
“Jayzus, JP yer makin’ as much sense as an ashtray on a feckin’ motorbike. Give us a bleedin’ clue here.”
“Yeah, an ol’ example wouldn’t go astray either.”
JP pushed his shoulders back and rolled them around a bit. He had loads of examples, but it was important to suck the two lads in with a major resonance. He puckered his lips and blew out a couple of breaths. As he knew it would – a light bulb went on in his brain.
“Here’s one for ya. Potholes. Bleedin’ potholes. The roads are full of ‘em. The world is full of ‘em. Surely with all the shaggin’ brains in the world, someone would have come up with a solution?”
The two boys nodded in violent agreement.
“Jayzus, yer right JP. Even when they do try and repair them down our road, it’s as bad as ever after a few days.”
“Yeah. As useless as a shaggin’ chocolate teapot.”
It took all JP’s restraint to stop himself from preening. He had them now. Best to follow up quickly with another example before he could loosen the reins of the conversation.
“And wha. ‘bout stitchin’ up bad cuts in your flesh. I mean it’s bleedin’ barbaric when ya think ‘bout it.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono. They both winced with the obvious memory of seeing that needle pick its way through live flesh on one side and then out through the other side and closing a wound like trussing up a chicken’s hole.
“Jayzus, yer right JP. I mean I know they tried superglue, but I think it caused inflammation or irritation or something else starting with ‘i’.”
“But – yeah – since man came out of the cave and came out the bad side of conversation with wolves – there’s been a need here. Why doesn’t someone watch a few episodes of ‘Star Trek’ and come up with somethin’ better.”
Again, there was violent agreement and a synchronous visit back to their pints was a natural progression to the conversation.
By this point Donleavy was making one of his periodic cycles of customer care and enquiry up and down the length of the bar counter.
“Well lads, how are they hangin’? Wha’s the great question of our age that is keepin’ ya all challenged this evenin’?”
They filled him in as concisely as possible on the nature of their discussion. He liked the topic. In fairness to the man there were lots of evenings when you just knew that Donleavy would much prefer to be over on the other side of the bar counter making it a gang of four rather than gang of three.
“So, Donleavy. Wha’ would ya add to the great unsolved areas of our modern livin’?”
“Yeah, Donleavy. Wha’ have Musk, Dyson, Jobs, Branson, Collinson and all of them lads missed?”
Donleavy thought for a while.
“Bleedin’ noisy dishwashers.”
The three amigos pressed their shoulders slightly forward looking for more clarity and detail.
“I’ve got two dishwashers. One in me house and one here in the pub for washin’ the glasses. Both of them work perfectly but they sound like a tsunami inside a Fiat500. Sometimes I think someone is goin’ to shout clear for take-off, and they’ll fly out the bleedin’ window. Why do they have to be so noisy?”
The lads did the nodding dog trick and went back to the well for another deserved visit. Rasher threw his hand in the air like as if the teacher had asked a question and only he knew the answer.
‘Jayzus Donleavy, ya’ve reminded me of one. The wife has a CPAP machine to help her sleep and it’s not that it’s very noisy but…’
There was more than one interruption with a number of variations on ‘what the feck is a CPAP?’. Rasher tried his best to explain about sleep apnoea and the mask and the continuous air feeding it.
“For feck sake, lads. She looks like the elephant man with this big trunk hangin’ out of her snout. Thousands of years of evolution and science and that’s the best we can do? Hookin’ her up to an air pump like a tyre at the garage.”
There were more general agreement and a slight confusion as to whether the sympathetic utterances of ‘poor fecker’ were aimed at Rasher or the wife. Donleavy needed to leave the lads to serve another deserving customer, but he returned much mor quickly than was his normal cycle of engagement.
“I’ve thought of another one lads.”
They waited for his contribution.
“Bleedin’ fruit and veg.”
The lads were definitely all at sea here wondering where this was going.
“D’ya know when ya go to the supermarket. Every shaggin’ apple and pear and orange and onion and turnip and tomato is the same size as its brother or sister. I mean wha’ the feck? Wha’s tha’ all about? Why do the powers that be think we need every shaggin’ fruit and veg to be the same size. And wha’ happens the outliers? The smallies and the biggies? That’s wha’ I wanna know. It’s feckin’ ridiculous.”
They went back to their pints to give this the consideration it deserved. What was happening with fruit and veg? Was there a massive cover up going on just waiting to be exposed? There was a lot to think about.
Rasher ordered fresh pints. This could be a long night. Maybe not just your ordinary night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 