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Duke attempts the Impossible
duke3016:
Can't let it go without a few words around the religious fever that was in good old catholic Ireland. I went to mass every Sunday for the good of my health. My mother would have frigging killed me if I didn't. I was also dispatched to confessions every Saturday at 11.00am to tell this man in black my sins.
I was terrified of him, you went into one side of the dark, scary confessional and waited for the grill to slide back so you could tell your sins. Now being afraid and not being able to concentrate I must have committed the same sins every week for 10 years, because they never changed. Which kind of defeats the object really.
Now Fr Flannery was an old Parish Priest who was extremely hard of hearing and when he was taking confession the front pew had a distinct lean as all who were waiting to go in were straining to hear the sins of the one that was in because they were always exhorted to speak up.
One day, I think it was Francie Mac who was in. We heard a few whispers and then in a very loud voice Fr Flannery roared.
“You what”
Well, Francie came out a few minutes later to the combined stares of the front pew who had various views as to his deeds that warranted such an outburst.
“Careful lads” he said “He's forgotten his hearing aid again”
Good times,
duke3016:
As our world gets increasingly smaller with improved air travel we are constantly reminded of our shortcomings around the ability to converse in foreign languages. We seem to be annoyed when a waiter in a Paris restaurant cannot speak English. Of course the reason he doesn't speak English could be because he is French !!!
However this problem can raise its head on this little island with differing accentuations of the English language.
When we opened a new depot in Warrington about two years ago, a goodly majority of the staff were Eastern European. I was reconfiguring the terminals on the forklift trucks when the training manager was giving a health and safety talk to the new drivers.
All these drivers were highly qualified fork operatives but regulations dictated that they get the H&S lecture. Now to assist these people the agency had provided an interpreter to help along in the first few days.
The gentleman giving the lecture was from Glasgow and not only was his accent broad, he also used various colloquiums from his native city. He really warmed to his subject with hand gestures and proper emphasis at the more important bits.
When he was finished all the heads of the drivers turned to the interpreter with child like expectation. He looked at them and then back at the H&S man, he even looked at me in expectation. He sighed and said.
“Could you repeat that I haven't got a clue what you just said”
Priceless.
duke3016:
When I was growing up if a Priest, Doctor or teacher said something then it was akin to an infallible suggestion and had to be obeyed without question. I am, I assure you, a little more cynical now.
At certain times of the year we would have a Priest's collection and the Priest would keep a note of all contributors. He would not be adverse to broadcasting from the pulpit anyone he felt did not either contribute or, even worse, did not contribute enough.
There would be much shuffling of feet at the back when this came round. You'd be eyeing up your exit routes just in case.
'Priests Fund analysis” boomed the priest
All eyes swiveled to see who was squirming the most.
“No contribution to the fund is a sin” boomed the priest
“You must be a bad man not to contribute to the fund” says he
“You will suffer the fires of hell” he continued
“It reflects on your mothers when you have not contributed” he roared
Well, then a voice rose from the back of the church. It was TJ Murphy
“I contributed anonymously and stop talking about my mother”
priceless
duke3016:
There were a lot of pubs to choose from in the neighbouring villages and you usually picked them by the day of the week. By that I mean certain pubs had a standard night for music and tried hard not to clash with each other. This led to the same crowd basically moving around during the week.
Jimmy Danny's in Broadford was the Wednesday haunt and Lena Hanrahan's was the Thursday night bash, so you get the picture.
After work on Thursday I was in the local bar in the village having a couple of tasters before making my way to Lena's for a night of dancing, drinking and if I got lucky a bit of debauchery. Standing at the bar with a couple of friends the discussion went thus.
“Great night at Danny's last night” says Denis
“Aye, good craic” says I
“One of the best in a long time” says Denis
“Was I there?” inquired Jerry Cooney looking a little tender
“Aye” says I
“Did I have a good time?” says Jerry
sigh
Anyway we geared up and headed for Feakle and parked up. You didn't hit Lena's too early as you didn't want to appear too keen, you know what I mean. So we ensconced ourselves in Pepper's bar for a couple. We lost Jerry here as he went for a piss and never came back. The next we heard of him he was in Australia buts that's another story for another time.
When the time was right we wandered into Lena's and had a right old time. Four dances, two fights and a particularly lively discussion on the merits of Mary O'Brien and the way she might look at you took us to closing time.
As per usual the front door closed, the band stopped and we got down to some serious drinking. Unfortunately this camaraderie was interrupted by a very loud knock on the front door announcing Guards On Duty. FECK
Now "found on's” were slapped with an automatic £50 fine and I for one didn't fancy paying it.
“Back Door” says I to Denis
“Back Door” agrees he
We ran behind the bar and into the kitchen where Lena's Mother was sitting at the table having a cup of tea.
“Hello Ger how's your mother” says she
“Fine Maam” says I
“Will you have a cup in your hand” says she
“No thanks maam we are in a bit of a hurry” says I
“Oh Guards” says she
“Aye Guards” says I making for the back door.
“Fecking shower of no good losers” says she sipping daintily from the cup
Now the back door of the house lead into a very overgrown haggard and we barrelled through and into the wilderness. It was full of head high nettles and brambles and I was getting ripped and stung to beat the band. I felt the jacket and pants being ripped asunder and the shirt taking a beating. My face and bare hands were covered in nettle stings.
We stopped at the wall and I legged Denis up and he pulled me up after him and we sprinted down the back field to the main road where we holed up for a while until the coast was clear.
My face was a sight covered in stings as were my hands and it was painful I can tell you. But I could comfort myself that I had saved £50.
Saved, my arse,,,,
Nettle rash cream £2.30
New Jacket £30
New Trousers £25
New Shirt £10
Priceless
duke3016:
Going into severe festive mode -
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