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Duke attempts the Impossible
duke3016:
Just back from a week working in Sunny/Windy/Rainy/Foggy Scotland and it was a buy week.
I arrived in the depot last Friday at 12:00 and had a few things to do prior to the “Go Live” on the Saturday. These done I went to check into my Hotel. Check in was non eventful but I did notice there was a wedding in full swing.
You know the way you can tangibly feel an atmosphere brewing. Well this one was like that, with all the kilted men wondering round looking for an English man to slaughter. I was due to go out and meet a few friends and duly got a taxi to another hotel for a few drinks.
I returned to the hotel at around 11:30pm and the wedding had got more lively. I ordered a drink at the bar and as I turned to survey the surroundings I espied the bride and the groom having a heated discussion in fluent vernacular Scottish so I didn't understand a word but I got the gist.
The bride of barely 10 hours then decided that words were not getting through to her beloved husband, so she gave him the sweetest short arm jab I have seen in a long time. He went down on the floor like a deflated lilo kilt akimbo. A woman, who I can only suspect was the grooms mother then barreled in and landed a beauty flush on the jaw of the bride.
Cue blood curdling cries of war as the kilted brigade then squared up and proceeded to knock several bales of Shiite out of each other. The Keystone cops then arrived and unsuccessfully attempted to part the warring factions and much tooing and froing occurred.
At one point the main tangle was herded out into the car park to continue their discussions and as I was in need of a cigarette I went to go out the front door. I was stopped by the duty manager (a lovely wee girl from Falkirk as I recall) and was steered in a different direction and shown the employee's secret smoking area. As we were walking arm in arm to this area she looked at me and said “Welcome to Livingston”
Cigarette duly smoked I wandered back in and was promptly stopped by a couple of boys in blue who wanted to interview me about my part in the proceedings. After numerous explainings and exasperated sighs they eventually believed that I was a resident and had no part in the scuffle, which had at this stage run its course and they were all buddies again.
Can't have a good wedding without a fight
Priceless
duke3016:
The was a man in our village, Michael McNamara (Shortened of course to Mick Mac) who was a plasterer by trade and a hard and outspoken gentleman who was not afraid to speak his mind or back up his opinions with explosive and deadly action.
He was on a job in Limerick and was driving home across Arnacrusha bridge when he was pulled up at a Garda checkpoint. The were checking for tax and insurance, which he had, but he of course berated them as only he knows how and of course the young Guard took the hump and proceeded to look over his old banger with a fine tooth comb.
He was writing down all the things that were wrong with the car when Mick jumped out and demanded to know what was wrong with his beloved car.
“For a start you have 4 bald tyres” said the Guard
Mick looked at the tyres and back at the Guard
“FFS you wouldn't know a bald tyre if it jumped up and slapped you in the face” spluttered Mick
He then proceeded to the back of the car and began tossing his tools of the trade onto the road, trowels, mortar boards and assorted implements clattered onto the road. At last he came to what he was looking for.
“That's a fecking bald tyre” screamed Mick, pointing at the offending item, which was so bad you could see the wire poking through the rubber.
The Guard looked at the tyre and back to Mick.
“You are right sir, 5 bald tyres” he smiled as he continued his list of faults.
Priceless. When you are in the Shiite keep your mouth shut.
duke3016:
duke3016:
duke3016:
Well, I worked from dawn to dusk for the next week with no sign of the ould lad. Although I suspect he was sneaking up when I was not around to cast his beady eye over the whole proceedings.
I laid out a line where the fence was to be installed. The ould lad had determined the height of the fence should be four feet high, So I set about digging the holes for my end posts. Feck me but it was hard going and I managed a depth of about 30 inches. After liberally painting the ends with linseed oil I positioned the end posts.
I ran a builder"s line from one end post to the other. All was going to plan, I marked out where the other posts were to go and dug the rest of my holes, which took me the rest of the day.
The next day I set the remaining posts, taking extreme care they were plumb. I was now beginning to get blisters and my temper was not the best, which any passer by who dared to offer encouragement could attest to.
The following day I nailed the stringers from post to post in threes (top middle bottom) and that took me all day with a feck load of frigging mistakes, as it turned out that my pole to pole measurements weren't quite accurate FML.
The next day I painted the finished fence with a waterproofing sealer, and set about making the gate, This was not the masterpiece that was intended by the ould lad, but it looked fine to me.
I attached the gates to the fence posts and they nearly met in the middle, a long chain FTW I thought, because at this stage I was beyond caring.
I stepped back and surveyed the finished article.
To be honest each post would have challenged the Pisa Tower for degree of lean, The stringers, which looked fine close up, resembled a sine wave on speed. The gate looked like an episode of Little and Large and in summary it looked like it had been put together by Stevie Wonder whilst wearing boxing gloves.
I was dead.
Nothing for it but to march down, tell the ould lad I had completed the job and take my medicine. We walked up together and he surveyed the disaster of a fence. Minutes seemed to pass, although in reality it was probably seconds. He turned to look at me, I braced myself for the inevitable tirade that was to follow and he said.
“Good job son, as fine a fence as I have ever seen” My jaw dropped and I looked at the fence and back to him and wondered was his eyesight gone. “Cmon I'll but you a pint to celebrate its completion” says he.
Sometimes he would surprise me, but one thing was certain he was a damn fine man and I loved him to bits
Priceless
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