Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

Ladies and Gentlemen: It is with great pleasure that I bring you the news of the latest inductee into the MAP (Most Annoying Person) Hall Of Fame.

This person has done more to raise the blood pressure, not to mention temper, of normally placid people that anyone else. She is to be found at till lanes in a shop near you everyday.

She is the woman who painstakingly places each item of her shop into assorted environmentally friendly bags with a speed that would make a sloth look like Usain Bolt. On completion of this laborious task, she will then reach into her trolley for her hand bag. This of course is at the bottom of all the shopping bags and after placing the handbag on the till tray, she then replaces the shopping bags into the order with which she would eventually replenish her OCD arranged shelves.

She has excelled at opening her TARDIS developed handbag and removing all sorts of random objects as she searches for her purse. Purse left on the side she painstakingly replaces the disturbed items back into the handbag. Handbag suitably rearranged she retrieves her purse and asks for the 11th time “How Much?”

Not yet embracing the electronic age she will now pay in cash, lovingly retrieved from her purse, coin by coin. She will of course lose count halfway through and have to start again, saying more than once “Silly me”.

When she has caused a queue of M25 proportions, she will not push her trolley out of the way until the purse is safely in the handbag and the handbag is safely in the trolley. Pockets patted to make sure they are still there, hair patted to make sure it's in place and glasses adjusted so she can see all her damage, she wanders towards the exit.

She leaves behind, 3 raised blood pressures, 2 hernia's and a gibbering wreck of a till operative.

She more than deserves her place in the MAP Hall Of Fame.   

[duke3016]

Now as you may have gathered from previous posts we owned a shop in the village. Now this had certain challenges as the shop had to be open from approx 6.00am until 10pm throughout the year. This partly made my mind up not to be a retailer. We sold everything from a needle to attachments for tractors and baby milk to feedstuff for cattle.

An annoying, but essential, aspect of the business was the amount of credit that had to be extended. This was important because a small farmer's income was by no means regular (except perhaps if they were dairy farming and were getting a monthly milk cheque). This meant that we would get paid when they got paid for cattle sales, crop sales etc.

Normally they were an honest bunch and paid when they got their money. There was always a few who would, sometimes through necessity, neglect to pay on time and these would have to be chased personally. Cue the next episode.

“Ger, come in here” boomed the ould lad from the kitchen
“What?” says I, wandering in.

He threw a pile of pages on the table and I immediately knew what they were.

“Oh No, why can't you do the debtors round” says I
“It's better if you do it” says he
“Why?” says I

He let out a sigh like a patient parent to a two year old.

“Because, obviously, they will hate you when you demand the money and still shop with me, because, after you have secured their money I will apologise for your heavy handed methods and all will be rosy in the garden”

“Heavy handed methods? What heavy handed methods?” questioned I
“You will not return without the monies” snarled he. “It'll be a win/win situation I get the money and they still shop with me”
“But they will hate me” says I
“Aye, win/win/win” says he

FML.. collection stories on their way..

[duke3016]

There was no going back now, the job of collecting owed monies was mine. So, I sat down and thought about the best way of doing this thankless job. I hit on dividing the pile of paper into 3 smaller piles.

Pile 1.
This pile would be the people, who in my opinion would pay up on request. This was the “easy” pile.

Pile 2.
This pile would be the people who would take a wee bit of persuading in order to prise at least some percentage of the owed money from their wallets. This was the “maybe” pile.

Pile 3.
This lot would need a lot of persuading and in fact for some of them I would be lucky to get away with my person intact. This was the “no effing way” pile.


“Well what's your plan” says the ould lad
“I will use my charm and charisma to collect the money” says I
“FFS that's a plan?” says he.

A quick bit of totting up revealed an outstanding amount of approximately £5,000 which was a huge amount of money and represented a goodly amount of the shops annual turnover. Before setting off I tried unsuccessfully to negotiate a collector's fee and was told that my continued good health was in the balance and I should be honoured to be doing this for the family business.

The piles unfortunately did not break out evenly in the money total stakes. “Easy” represented around 20% of the monies owed, “maybe's” represented 30% and the “no effing way” pile was a whopping 50%. This was going to be a tough ask.

I reckoned that I could mop up the “easy” pile in the morning return for dinner and attack the “maybe” pile in the afternoon, leaving a full day for the “no effing way” pile.

As I thought the “easy” pile was no bother at all with all people paying up with the minimum of fuss and just a few comments about my father's heritage. No dogs were set on me and I wasn't threatened with disembowelling by pitchfork. I returned around lunchtime with the money and the ould lad was positively beaming as I deposited the cash on the table.

“Any defaulters so far” says he
“No, my powers of persuasion are legendary” says I
“Went to the easy one's first then” says he
“F*** off” thought I.

Now for the “Maybes”

Contd

[duke3016]

Now the “maybes” were not a bad lot and in some cases they paid up after a good haggle and me having to listen to a few tales of woe about how I was taking the food from the mouths of their children. In one case, after a particularly long whinge and a bread and water speech, I was given a couple of hundred pounds. The unusual part of this was the farmer reached into the glove compartment of his brand new NSU RO80 and extracted a roll of notes well in excess of the total amount of the whole debt, don't mind his portion of it.

“FFS John why hold out paying, when you have it” says I
“To annoy your Father” says he
“Fair enough” says I

Now, as expected the word had got round that I was on the annual debt collection round. Therefore it was no surprise that in a few cases as I rolled up the drive all that was missing was the tumbleweed to complete a scene of desertion. In these cases I would lay on knocking at the door and not give up until it was opened out of sheer frustration.

“Oh it's you Ger, I didn't hear you knocking” this despite the fact that I probably annoyed his nearest neighbour with my knocking and he lives over half a mile away. This was commonly known as the “debtors knock”.

“What can I do for you” says he
“It's that time again” says I, handing him his bill
“Oh” says he “Wow is it that much”

This was the starting point and I could write the script for this. First would come the incredulous attitude to the amount. Second would come the reluctant acceptance of said amount. Third would come the offer of part payment and the merry dance of haggling would begin.

Say the bill was £500.

“I can give you £100 now and the rest later” says he
“Come on Pat, you know the ould lad will skin me if I accept that” replies I
“Aye but Ger times are hard” says he
“Yes, I noticed how hard they are in Mike's last night” says I
“A man's got to have some enjoyment, £200 and that's me skint” says he
“FFS Pat it's not a charity we are running” says I

To and fro, thrust and parry, bitch and moan and eventually I would get the full amount, knowing that he would start another line of credit tomorrow and this conversation would take place again in the future. The point of this escaped me as he knew he would pay me, I knew he would pay me, but we had to observe the ritual.

I would take my leave of these people with various degrees of comment. This ranged from “You're a hard man Ger Smyth” to “You mean, money grabbing son of a bitch”.

All in all the “maybe's” were OK apart from a couple who I had to put on my “no effing way” list as they refused to answer to by knocking. My physical wellbeing intact I made my way back to the house and deposited the collected monies on the table.

“Not bad” says the ould lad checking me for external injuries
“That's half the total, give or take a few pounds” says I

He checked the slips against the money and I knew he wasn't checking up on me, he was checking on the actual people I had collected from. By a process of elimination he had also worked out in his head the ones I had to approach tomorrow. He got up and went to the kitchen cupboard and retrieved a bottle of brandy and two glasses. FFS what was this, was I to share in his prized brandy. He filled two glasses.

“Here's to tomorrow” says he “It's going to be a tough one”

We toasted my impending doom

FML the “no effing way's” to follow

Contd.

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

Well you know how it is with relationships; the probability of them working can be gauged fairly early on. No matter how compatible you think you are it's rare that your feelings change for the better as you go deeper into said relationship. More often than not, they change for the worst which then sours the whole atmosphere and you end bitter enemies.

In my own mind, it was not going to work with Anne. Not because of the family feud, FFS I could hold my own in that department and if I couldn't there was always the option of sending my Mother into the fray. It was not because of the ribbing I was getting and the remarks about marriage, it just didn't feel right. Don't get me wrong she was drop dead gorgeous and amazing company but there was something missing. Was it love, I had no idea at the time and if I ever get round to talking about my first marriage you will understand that I am a world champion when it comes to confusing Love and Lust.

So it was with a fair bit of trepidation that I decided that this friendship had to end and I was going to tell her that night.

“FFS did you swallow a wasp” says the ould lad, as I got ready to go out. Do you know if they made insensitivity an Olympic sport the ould lad would be a shoe in for gold? My mother on the other hand seemed to sense something like all mothers do and kept her counsel.

I picked her up and we drove down to the beach making small talk on the way. Was I doing the right thing, as her presence seemed to easily lift my melancholic mood? Taking a breath I said.

“I have something to say” says I
“No, I have something to say first” says she

I shut my trap and looked at her.

“There is no easy way to say this” says she “But I feel this relationship is going nowhere”

FFS I was being dumped, now, I should have felt elation that the chore I was going to perform was being done for me. I should have been relieved that we were mutually parting and would remain friends with no bitterness. Well, all I could think of was, how dare she, I was going to do that. What a wicked, wicked thought.

Good sense prevailed and the bad thoughts disappeared as the situation was resolving itself and we could get on with our lives. In my case fecking it up, but that's another story.

We had a great old chat and replayed the last few days and had a great old laugh. Do I regret not trying harder, no, I really have very few regrets, my actions are my own and I live with the consequences. As we parted for the last time and as I prepared to find Darby and Joan and stop them wrecking the nearest lounge bar. She turned to me.

“I have made this known to my family” says she
“OK” says I “Were they relieved that their little girl was not marrying a reprobate”
“Well the ould lad did ask if you would still come up once a week for the rumble”

Priceless

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

FFS he opens the gate I get to take care of his pang of conscience and undo his silly act. My mother looked at me as if to say “WTF is he on about”.

“Don't go there” says I walking out to my car.

I drove down the Limerick road, as I neared Marty's house I could see him standing by the side of the road scratching his head. Not wanting to let on I knew what was up, I drove past him and gave him the pre-requisite wave. He absentmindedly lifted his hand in response and went back to scratching his head.

As I rounded the next bend I was confronted by a car frantically flashing his lights. I was near the cattle then. Sure enough I came across around 5 cattle in the road. Now Marty had nearer to 30 head of cattle, so where were the rest.

I stopped the car and got out. Going to the far side of the cattle I proceed to drive this bunch back up the road towards Marty's. Not long after Marty was in sight. He reached me quickly.

“These your beasts Marty” says I
“Aye some of them” says he
“How did they get out” says I without a trace of a smile
“Some fecker opened the gate” says he
“Who would do a thing like that” says I
“No idea, but if I get my hands on him” says he leaving the outcome to my imagination.

I filed that under the heading of “Ould Lad blackmail” and continued to help Marty put these cattle in the field.

“Did you see the rest of them Ger” says he
“No but they can't have gone far” says I
“Aye” says he
“Do you want a hand looking for them” says I
“That'll be great, thanks” says he

We walked back to my car and as we were about to get in Marty stared into the distance.

“There they are in Malloy's field” says he

Sure enough they there were at the top of the field about a half mile away, munching on the rich grass of Malloy's meadow.

“Right, let's go get them” says I
“Pity to disturb them” says Marty eyeing the rich grass in the field.
“Marty!” says I
“Ok Ok let's get them” says he

We walked in the field with the intention of driving them towards the road.

Contd.

Next.
24 obliging cattle
1 Fecker of a bull not so obliging
1 broken collar bone
1 world record 100 metre dash
1 world record tree climb

[duke3016]

“You stay at the gate Ger and make sure they go up the road” says Marty
“No bother” says I

He strolled into the field and the cattle were moving towards the road. Well the vast majority of them anyway. One huge bullock seemed to be contemplating why this human was disturbing him from this richer grass. He stubbornly stood his ground.

The other cattle dutifully lined out the gate and with minor encouragement started back towards their own field. I looked up at the confrontation in the field and leant back on the open gate to see how this battle would unfold.

In the blue corner Marty Phelan weighing in at 16 stone

In the Red corner Mr Bullock weighing in at close to half a ton

My money was on the bullock.......

Marty grabbed a bit of a branch and losing his temper lashed a crack on the bullock's backside. Mistake!!. The bullock felt that this usurper was depriving him of his fine feed and was not going to give in without a fight. The bullock launched himself at Marty and caught him a glancing blow that knocked him flying. He sat up holding his shoulder as the bullock whirled round, ready to charge again.

I ran into the field roaring at the top of my voice trying to distract the animal. It worked, oh boy did it work. The bullock turned his attention to the eejit that was flapping his arms. The hunk of steak was reaching terminal velocity as he bore down on me.

Well, I did think to take my coat off and do my impression of El Cordoba. Instead I spied a tree to my left and took off. I broke every land speed record known to man as a distinct attitude of self preservation kicked in. My knees were reaching the level of my ears as I covered the ground in double quick time. I didn't even have to grab the lowest limb as I also broke the world high jump record and grabbed the branch above. I swung myself up like a gymnast on the high bars and sat on this branch looking down at snorter below who was looking a bit peeved that his punch bag was out of reach.

Marty meanwhile had regained his feet and was standing, looking forlorn in the middle of the field. Old Bullock face had resumed his grass munching as I slowly climbed down for the tree and made my way towards the gate.

Marty joined me at the gate.

“He can fecking stay there” says I

Marty said nothing but closed the gate and we made sure that the rest of the cattle were safely in their own field. I took Marty to the Docs where it turned out that he had dislocated his collarbone. No hospital for that man, a solid yank by the doctor, choice words from Marty as the waiting room cleared when they heard the screams, a sling and back home.

We drove down to see how the devil was getting on and found him at the gate roaring in reply to the other cattle. I opened the gate (standing behind it of course) and the bullock trotted out and up the road. He went placidly into his own field.

Lonely for his mates I suppose

Priceless......................

[duke3016]

I came home straight from work one evening, which in itself was an unusually rare occurrence as I had a constipated car, it couldn't pass a pub. But in this case my mother was in England visiting my sister for a few days and I was to relieve the ould lad for a couple of hours in the shop.

When I walked in he had the face of someone who had just committed murder and the Guards were on their way with irrefutable evidence ready to cart him off.

“What's up Da, takings down?” says I
“Feck off we have a problem” says he

FFS the royal 'we' again.

“You know the porcelain dolphin in the kitchen” says he
“The Poole Pottery gift to Ma when she left and the most prized possession she has ever owned, the one that if anything happened to it she would tear the offender's head off and.....” started I
“Shut the feck up” says he interrupting me
“You didn't?” says I

Silence

“You did, OMG is your passport up to date” says I
“You're not helping” says he
“Oh I think I am” says I
“We'll replace it” says he
“What's with the 'we' public enemy number 1, and besides it was a limited edition and would be damn near impossible to replace, is it repairable?” says I

The face said it all.

“What the feck did you do to it” says I
“Well I knocked the shelf” he started
“The one Ma wanted you to fix” I interrupted
“and I went to catch it and it bounced off my foot and across the room and hit the wall” he continued
“Ah the old catch it with the hobnail boot trick” says I
“You're not helping” he said

FFS this was terminal, at least it wasn't me and no way was I taking the fall for the ould lad. My Mother's wrath would be awesome to behold, as long as you weren't on the receiving end. I did really feel sorry for him because this was more serious than if he had run off with a scarlet woman.

“Let's see it” says I

He reached under the counter and produced a bag that jingled as he lifted it.

“Don't bother, I can see it's fecked” says I
“What are we going to do” says he
“Less of the 'we' death row man” says I
“Ger” he pleaded

Later, what we did.................

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

I awoke the next morning in bad need of a lucozade and wandered into the kitchen. Well as crime scenes go it was a farce. The ould lad was setting himself up for an academy award with his “how could they do this to me” face. Sergeant Nolan was doing his Poirot impression and was failing miserably. It was all I could do not to fall about the place laughing.

The Guard's left and the ould lad reverted to type.

“Feckers wouldn't find clues if they tripped over them” says he
“Did he say he thought it was an inside job” says I
“Feck off” was the time honoured response.
“Did you talk to Ma” says I

The ould lad brightened up significantly and said that he had and that she was all concern about us and couldn't wait until she was home. She was due back on the Tuesday and I was supposed to pick her up from Shannon airport. Now that was going to be a problem because I didn't fancy spending 40 minutes in a car being quizzed by my Mother.

Plan B

“Da can't make the airport on Tuesday I have to work late” says I
“You little Shiite, you just don't want to be the first under questioning” says he
“No honest, and anyway my conscience is clear” says I
“Fecker, I'll get someone to pick her up then” says he
“Not going yourself then?” says I
“Feck off” says he

Tuesday arrived and I decided that even though I didn't have to I was going to work late and let the dust settle at home. I arrived home just as the ould lad was locking up the shop with the widest smile on his face. I wondered through to the kitchen and there was no sign of my Mother. The ould lad came in and whispered.

“She's gone to bed, she was tired after the trip” says he
“And?” says I
“Oh she is fine about it” says he

I had a bad feeling about this and decided the less time I spent alone in the company of my Mother, over the next couple of days, the better.

The next day I woke up to some loud voices in the kitchen. The Mother was letting rip.

“You evil ******, what were you ****** thinking, You *******” she screamed
“Now Brigid, look at it from my point of view” says the ould lad
“Your ******** point of view, Yours, you break my prize pottery, then you dream up a ******* scam to cover your sorry ******* ass” she continued

I decided that entering the kitchen at this stage would be hazardous to my health and was about to sneak out the front door when I heard a funny sound. It was like a hollow clang of a bell being hit by a large piece of rubber. I assumed that some large object had connected with the ould lad's head.

“Brigid please let me explain” I heard the ould lad plead
“EXPLAIN THIS” she cried as another “thunk” sounded in the kitchen. The door from the kitchen flew open and the ould lad closed it behind him and held on as numerous objects thudded against the other side.

Amidst incoherent ranting form the other side and breaking noises (one that sounded suspiciously like a window shattering) the ould lad hung on for dear life to the door.

“How did she find out” says I
“Well you know the bag with the pieces in” says he
“Aye” says I as another foreign object hit the door
“I picked up the wrong fecking bag when you were leaving and I put the bag of change into the bin bag instead of the broken pottery. Your mother went to get change this morning for the till and all hell broke loose” says he
“Looks like it” says I
“What are we going to do” says he
“I don't know about you, but I'm off” says I
“Ger, you can't” says he
“Watch me” says I, as I literally ran out of the door hearing a particularly loud rending crash from the kitchen.

I felt a wee bit bad after a while, after all I was party to the deception. I rang work from the phone box and took a day's holiday and went back to face the music.

The kitchen was a sight, there wasn't an intact plate in the place, the back window was broken and the cooker was at an angle. The door to the hall was pitted with holes where numerous sharp objects had hit it and my Mother was at the table drinking a cup of tea from what looked like the only cup in one piece.

“Did you know about this” says she
“Yes” whispered I
“And you went along with it” says she
“Not much choice” says I
“I wouldn't have minded if he told the truth” says she
“Where is he?” says I
“Off to Limerick to get a complete new set of crockery and a new cooker. While he is there he is also going to get me all the things I have been asking for lately” says she

For the ould lad having to spend all that money was worse than a bad beating.

“I am going to milk this for days to come” says she “I will now have all the things I have wanted that he would always have an excuse not to get. Not anymore”

“And do you know what?” says she
“What?” says I
“I never liked that fecking dolphin anyway”

Priceless   

[duke3016]

I had a salient lesson when I was 17 and we were building our shop. My Father and myself did all the floors and it was during one of these days that the lesson was delivered. In order to save time when we were mixing the cement we used to fill a large barrel with water and top it up as we went along.

One day I was topping it up and we went to lunch, and of course I forgot to turn the tap off. When we returned the place was flooded and the sub floor was ruined. Well, the ould lad went ballistic effin and blinding all over the place. I lost my temper and told him to Feck Off and go home and I would sort it out. He continued to rant and rave, swearing without repeating himself, it was impressive.

I snapped and went for him, I picked myself up and charged him again. Picking myself up once more with a few stars dancing around my head I was about to launch myself at him again when he turned got his coat and walked out. I spent the rest of the afternoon clearing the mess and re laying the sub floor whilst nursing a sore jaw and a black eye.

I went down to the house and there he was sitting by the fire with his paper and pipe.

“Finished ?” Says he
“Yes” says I
“Good” says he.

Man of few words my Father (except when he was swearing at you)

I went into the kitchen to see my Mother hoping to get some parental solace and comfort.

“Fecking Eejit” Says she “Your Father spent 20 years on the building sites of England and you thought you could take him on”

Straight to the point my Mother

Lessons learnt: Turn the fecking tap off and don't attack your father with anything less than a baseball bat and even then make sure his back is to you.

[duke3016]

Now there are certain times in your life when you face a dilemma of huge moral implications. What you do at the time will define your character.

It was that time again. The septic tank needed emptying. Now this glorious piece of engineering was positioned approximately half way between the shop and the river. It was basically a concrete construction 5 metres x 2 Meters and about 2 metres deep. The usual way of getting rid of the irreducible solids which settle and gradually fill the tank, is to get it pumped out by a contractor. So contractor hired and today was the day.

The top of this tank was covered by concrete slabs (three of them) and two of these had to be lifted in order for the suction pipe to be put in place, one for each chamber.

Now the basic construction of this contraption was that wastewater enters the first chamber of the tank, allowing solids to settle and scum to float. The liquid component flows through the dividing wall into the second chamber where further settlement takes place with the excess liquid then draining in a relatively clear condition from the outlet.     

We lifted the first slab no bother and set it to one side. The other slab was proving a little difficult. It was stuck with a combination of grass and soil all round. The frequency of emptying was approx 3 years and the grass was overgrown etc.

“You lifting at all” says the ould lad
“Are you” I retorted
“Well put your back into it” says he

What happened next has lived long and vivid in my memory.

I went on tilt and gave a huge pull on the slab, the ould lad heaved towards me and the slab lifted. It shot towards me and gave me a fearful crack on the leg. My pain was forgotten as I saw the ould lad lose his balance and fall head first into the first chamber. The release of stench was overpowering as his fall broke the scum crust and splatted into the “irreducible solid” that was beneath.

Now here comes the dilemma, he didn't surface straight away. FFS I know he was my Father but was I going to have to jump into the Shiite and save the eejit. I was saved the decision as he gained his feet and rose like a monster from the deep.

“Get me out” he screamed
“Climb out yourself I am not touching you”  says I
“Give me a fecking hand” he snarled

FFS I went round to the other side and found a stout stick and standing as far away as possible handed him one end. He clambered out and stood up, smelling awful, looking terrible, head to foot in slimy “irreducible solids” LMAO

Well in order to stay alive a wee bit longer I stifled my laughter and walked downwind as he trudged to the back of the shop. My mother came out of the kitchen into the yard and had no such discipline and collapsed against the wall weak with laughter.

“Shut up woman” he says as he went to go inside
“Where the feck do you think you are going” says she
“In to get cleaned up” says he
“Oh no take all that crap off out here, Ger get the hose” says she
“No way” says the ould lad

Well as usual Ma won and the ould lad stripped naked in the yard and the clothes were dropped into a plastic bin with a lid that would be disposed of later.

Hose ready and on full power I drenched the old lad from top to toe and to be honest kept it going longer than was necessary. My mother tossed him an old towel and he regained what modesty he had as he went in to have a hot shower.

Priceless

[duke3016]

I must have started the regression back into childhood. You know the way that babies have to take a midday nap, well I am wide awake from 7am till 12 noon then I struggle to keep my eyes open. Come 2pm I am wide awake again. This happens everyday regardless of how many hours sleep I have had the night before..

Strange