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Duke attempts the Impossible

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duke3016:
Now back to another portion of possible the most “lively” of nights I have ever encountered

After the toilet episode we retired back to the bar.

“Now who the feck were those jokers” says I
“No one” says O'Neill

FFS I took Anne aside and she told me they were of a family that had been trouble for a few years and that they reckoned they had title over some land that the O'Neill's owned. FFS send in my mother she has a way of dealing with that LOL

“Will they be back tonight” says I
“Oh yes” says she
“So what normally happens then” says I
“Mayhem” says she
“No I mean he is still here, no offence, so what happens” says I
“Mayhem” says she

The door slammed open and the two heavies stood in the doorway flanked by two more heavies. O'Neill looks at the ould lad and says.

“No need to get involved Michael it's my problem”
“Your problems are mine” says the ould lad and of course added “Ger to me NOW”

FFS here we go again, don't get me wrong I would have gone through the doors of Hell beside the ould lad but this was stretching it. Odds, FFS the odds were so bad even I wouldn't call that hand. However Anne had a look in her eye as three very large lads appeared behind us and walked up beside her.

“Ger did I tell you I had three brothers” says she
“No” says I

But if I ever entertained any thoughts of messing her about (which I didn't) the sight of these strapping lads would have deterred me. They were big. This was going to get very 'lively'.

“Hello Ger” says one of them “We have heard about you”  FFS is nothing sacred

I think I copped on at this stage.

“Is this a regular occurrence” says I
“Oh yes, you prevented isolation of our Da” says one of the brothers “we are usually here to look after him, for that we thank you, and you can see Anne again if you like” he said, the last comment with a wink

FFS was that tacit approval of our fledgling friendship.

Anyway the 4 heavies in the door ran forward, the barman ducked behind the bar, metal shutters on the bar came down, people moved their pints to avoid the shutters (must have been out of habit), other patrons moved back, the three brothers moved in front of O'Neill and all hell broke loose.

Not to be out done I moved in front of the ould lad, who promptly shoved me out of the way and took up position in front of the brothers.

He got the brunt of the frontal assault and was knocked backwards, but not before he had got one fresh air shot in FFS, he really has to work on his technique. Next thing it was a pitch battle with no real damage, much like a rugby scrum with no real strike just a lot of hugging, until O'Neill took a hand.

He picked up a stool and wading in like mad man and was cleaving all before him, and that included me as the stool smacked me on my side and knocked me over. I got up and there was the ould lad, who had acquired a stool as the weapon of choice was also 'cleaving'.

It was over before it really started and we were all still standing when the 4 heavies, who  decided the odds to call an all in were not available, left the field of battle, the shutters came back up,

“Tom O'Neill can we stop this Shiite every Tuesday night” says the barman

FFS every Tuesday, was this a joke

“Thanks Michael it usually takes longer, your son is welcome to walk out with Anne” says O'Neill

Did I want to? However the night was not quite done as we ordered more drinks with her Da and her three large brothers.

Contd..

duke3016:
I was of course intrigued as to why this particular rumble took place every Tuesday night. I mean, FFS, why only on a Tuesday, and why at all.


So being a direct person, I asked a direct question

“What the feck was that about and why only on a Tuesday” says I
“It used to be every time we met but we had a meeting and decided to limit the hostilities to one night only” says O'Neill
“FFS you had a meeting” says I
“Aye” says he
“And the only thing to come out of this meeting was a fight night, no other resolution” says I
“Yes there were other resolutions, like no hostilities at all in Christmas or Easter week and if one of either party's people were sick the opposition would reduce their numbers by one. Tonight's toilet issue was a departure from the agreed agenda.” Says he

I must have been hit on the head as I didn't understand this at all.

“So, in the light of this “departure” what going to happen now” says I
“We will call another meeting” says O'Neill
“And at this meeting will you discuss the core issue of land ownership” says I
“Oh no, only the fight rules” says O'Neill
“Will the issue of land every be resolved” says I
“Well to be honest, I am not arsed whether it is or not, we only need clarity around the fight night rules” says he

I had been beamed up to La La land and had been given hallucinogenic drugs. I looked at Anne and she shrugged. I looked at the ould lad, and he was nodding sagely as if the situation was completely normal.

“Of course, now that you are going out with Anne we will have to allow them to add one of the other brothers to even it up” says O'Neill

If they thought I was going to appear for “fight night” every week they had another think coming.

“No Da” says one of the sons “we distinctly said in the last meeting that additions could only be made to any side if the addition was married to the sister”

“Oh that's right, so when are you two getting married” says O'Neill

Whoa, this was progressing in quite the wrong direction as my mischievous mother started congratulating the two of us. I wisely kept my trap shut as Anne took my hand and winked at me.

“Right, drinks all round to the lucky couple” says O'Neill

contd..

janc:
Priceless ive missed this

duke3016:
I woke up the next morning with a bit of a head, last night really was just a dream wasn't it. Don't kid yourself Ger, no it wasn't. The night ended ok with Anne and myself laughing off the preposterous suggestions of marriage. The problem was her ould lad seemed serious. Nah he was just taking the piss, wasn't he?

I went out into the kitchen to the ould lad's off tune whistling of Mendelssohn"s "Wedding March”.  FFS he had a warped sense of humour. My mother was looking through Todd's clothing catalogue paying particular attention to ensembles with floppy hats.

“Knock it off” says I
“Pre nuptial nerves” says the ould lad

Sigh, it would probably be better if I said feck all and the joke would run its course.

Anyway I cast that to the back of my mind and enquired what we were going to do today.

“We are going shark fishing” says the ould lad
“Feck off, what are we really doing” says I
“Going shark fishing off Doonbeg” says the ould lad. “Your prospective Father-in-law sorted it out for us”

You'll be sleeping with the fecking fishes if you keep that up ould lad I thought to myself.

Should be a bit of craic anyway. We got ready and headed off to the harbour in Doonbeg. When we arrived we asked about and were directed to a boat at the end of the pier. It wasn't exactly the Calypso but it looked sturdy enough and the skipper looked the part. He had all the gear we required and we hopped aboard and the ould lad negotiated the going rate, paid the man and we set off.

We were the only three in the boat and the skipper went about instructing us on the safety etc. We ran for about 30 minutes and were informed that here we were to fish for mackerel, which was to be the bait for the sharks. Now mackerel are easy fish to catch, just drop a line with 6 lures, six tugs, and then reel in a full line of fish.

When we had enough of mackerel we steamed further out and the skipper started to drop some feeder bait out of the foulest smelling bucket I had ever had the misfortune to put my nose near. Now I am not the best sailor and that did the trick, the morning's breakfast went over the side. Swiftly followed by yesterday's tea and some of my stomach lining.

God I was ill and my mood wasn't made any better by the ould lad doing his impression of Captain Pugwash, stopping short of actually talking in a stage Pirate's accent. With the stomach empty I wasn't felling to bad but I sat out for a while watching the skipper help the ould lad hook up.

He was fishing for only a few minutes, when the tip of his rod twitched, then damn near bend double.

“Hang on Michael, smoothly does it" says the skipper.

Under the tutelage of the skipper the ould lad began to reel in whatever he had snagged. The skipper reckoned it was a shark and a goodly one.

“Gently, no jerks” says the skipper

Now telling the ould lad to be gentle was like telling a piranha to become a vegetarian. As the clock ticked the old lad got more impatient to land the monster of the deep at the end of his line.

“Gently” says the skipper

Gently my arse, the rod was bent double as the ould lad reeled and pulled at the same time, with his body leaning backwards as he heaved at the rod. I was watching this in fascination and expectation. Not because of the battle between man and a denizen of the deep, but more wandering when the line was going to break and how far backwards the ould lad would go.

The skipper had the same idea I think, and came out from behind the ould lad and stepped to one side still trying to get him to calm down.

The line broke.

The ould lad shot backwards and landed in a heap right on top of the foul smelling shark bait. He lay there for a moment getting his senses amid an expectant silence on the boat. He delivered a continuous stream of obscenities that echoed around the boat and over the water. If the creature that was on the end of his line was listening he was now dead through sheer force of will.

I did not improve the ould lads mood by collapsing to my knees weak with laughter and my mother was doing her best not to laugh and eventually failing. Even the skipper cracked a smile.

That was the only bite we had that day, but the memory of the ould lad in the pile of offal (and the way he smelled all the way back) will stay with me forever. As will his stories of how Moby Dick got away, as the boat chugged back to the harbour, the fish gained the dimensions of the QEII.

Priceless.

duke3016:
I ran into Morrison's, this evening, for three things, two crates of beer and a loaf of bread. Tea and dessert taken care of then!

Anyway the Self-service checkouts are empty and I decide to breeze through them. I scan a box of beer and get a message that I need to be ID'd by a member of staff to prove I am eighteen or over. Said member of staff comes over, inserts a key, presses a code and we are good to go.

I place the crate of beer in the area where the bags are and a metallic voice tones “Unexpected item in the bagging area”

FFS no it's not I have just scanned the fecking thing.

Cue wee member of staff “Ah you must open the plastic bag and place the box of beer in the bag or it doesn't register as bagged”

“Don't want a plastic bag, think of the environment” says I

“Self checking demands that you use a plastic bag” says she

“Do you know about global warming” says I

“Put the beer in the bag” says she.

I put the beer in the bag and scan the next box of beer. Age check! Cue wee girl who comes over, inserts a key, presses a code and we are good to go. Now being a cute fecker I opened a second bag next to the first one and place the box of beer in the bag.

Perfect. NOT  “Unexpected item in the bagging area”

Feck

Wee girl approaches shaking her head.

“First bag must be used” says she

“Will not fit in the first bag” says I

Magic key inserted and both boxes are registered and safely in the trolley. She walks away with that look normally reserved for small children and drunks.

One item left, the loaf of bread. Cue barcode blindness and an attack of repetitive strain injury as I try to get the fecker to scan. Finally a beep and the bread appeared on the screen. I place it in the bag beside the scanner and. “Unexpected item in the bagging area”

FFS the machine was very forcibly calling me an eejit and everyone was watching, believe me, they were treated to a colourful display of language that was a delight to behold.

Cue wee girl who comes over, inserts a key, presses a code and we are good to go.

Now paying.. I decided to use a card and not risk the machine not reading my notes properly. This worked surprisingly well and as my dignity was shot to ribbons I made my way to the exit. Now irrational thought breaks out. Did I scan it all correctly? Did I pay correctly? Will I feel the long arm of security on my shoulder as I walk out the shop?

FFS it took three times as long to get three items than if I went through a manned (womaned?) till.

In the past shopping was all about personal service, We have shopping on the internet and now the expansion of fecking self-service tills, face-to-face time has been reduced or even excised completely from the shopping experience.

Self-Service checkouts suck, I will use the “people” tills next time

End of rant

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