Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

Now if any of you have had the pleasure of meeting Laxie you will attest to the fact that not only has she kissed the Blarney stone she bit a big chunk off and swallowed it.

The term “Blarney” was, I think, invented by Queen Elizabeth I in the 1600"s. A cute whore by the name of Cormac Mac Carthy was running with the hare and running with the hounds as he tried to keep in with the queen, in order to retain his lands, and also appease his own clan so his head wasn"t taken off.

The old Mac Carthy stronghold is Blarney Castle and that is where you will find the stone today, under the battlements. They say that kissing it will reward you with the gift.

The survival technique of Cormac Mac carthy is now a customary activity. While you may not be dependent on your loquaciousness to stay alive, an ability to charm your opponents at the table may reward you.

[duke3016]

I played hurling for Bodyke and was not really very good, more of a bull in a china shop me. Now some of you heathen's may say that suits the beautiful game of hurling. That is a misguided view of what is the fastest grass game in the world and one of the most skillful.

Anyway as I was saying I usually filled in at Full Forward where I would cause the least problems and maybe fluke a couple of points. We were playing against Tubber in the league and they were known to be hard men who came down from the mountains once in a while to play a game. The rumour was they were fed raw meat before the match.

We lined up and the Full Back stood beside me.

“You're going to get it today” says He
“Eh” says I
“It's payback” says he
“FFS what the Feck for” says I (don't think I ever met the guy, I knew of him however)
“Your father broke my father's arm in a match, and we don't forget” says he

FFS the sins of our fathers visited upon their sons. First high ball my ankle got a rap, FFS this was going to be a good one. Next ball in, self preservation kicked in and I didn't even look at the ball, I was like Zorro trying to parry his flashing hurley. This would have to stop.

“This will have to stop” says I
“Only when you go off” says he

The referee was fecking useless and would only intervene if the situation merited a 999 phone call. Ok I was not going to wait for the bout of pain that would inevitably arrive, so I hatched a wee plan.

Now players of this level wore normal football shorts that had no ties only loose elastic, he leapt for an easy ball and as he rose up I grabbed his shorts and pulled then down around his ankles. When he landed, ball in hand, he went to run and fell heavily, crying in pain (he had no undergarments on and his pride and joy was exposed to the world).

The ball was cleared and this hard man stayed down whimpering in pain holding his left arm. The trainer came on and he was carted off.

When the match was over we heard that history had repeated itself and he was carted off to hospital with a suspected broken arm. I had to dodge the slings and arrows after the match but arrived home fairly intact.

The ould lad was a picture, cracking an infrequent smile, when I told him. I had blamed him of course, saying that his actions of years ago had precipitated the whole thing. This elicited the time honoured response.

“Feck off, you fecking eeijt”

priceless   

[duke3016]

On the Shannon when we pulled into Dromod and parked (moored?) the boat, we strolled up town for a few pints. As I said Mike didn't drink but was absolutely, stark, raving, mad. We were in this establishment and were having a good time and Frank (who was hard to understand at the best of times) was getting incomprehensible. Some soft lad asked him a question.

“You're not from here” says soft lad
“Gerrawayay” says Frank
“Where are you from then” says soft lad
“lisshaonorrr” says Frank
“Where?” says soft lad
“Feshking Lisshonnnnorr” says Frank loudly
“You taking the piss” says soft lad
“whaddayaymeansh” says Frank

At this point Mike ups and takes a lump out of soft lad, soft lad's brother takes a lump out of me and Denis, bless him throws a punch and of course misses landing in a heap on the floor where he stayed for the rest of the evening.

Frank, who had trouble focusing at the best of times, was shouting at the top of his voice in a language unknown to all of us. The scrap, mid melee,  paused as we all watched and listened in wonder at this speech in a language most alien.

It was wonderous, not one word was understood by anyone. We all sat down and reached for our drinks looking at each other in bewilderment as Frank continued for a good 10 minutes of ranting.

He eventually stopped took a bow and passed out on the floor. Soft lad and his friends helped us get Denis and Frank back to the boat and we toasted their health to the wee hours as the two boys snored in happy slumber.

The following morning when Frank awoke and was asked about the night before, he looked at us with disgust. It turned out that he thought that soft lad wanted him to sing and as he couldn't sing he recited the whole of the “Midnight Court” by Brian Merriman.

Well I congratulated him on his mastery of the Irish Language.

“Irish, I can't speak a word, that was all in English” says he.

Priceless

[duke3016]

My sister Maria was over on holiday from England and was joined by her then boyfriend Neville. Now, I was staying below in the house opposite the church at the time and to prevent any nocturnal hanky panky my Father demanded Maria slept above by the shop and Neville would bunk down with me.


“Remove the temptation, remove the inevitable outcome” he growled


Now Neville stood about 6' 4” in his socks and was built like a brick Shiite House with a huge mop of unruly black hair. He was a lovely lad and couldn"t do enough for you.

Early one morning there was a rap at the door and I got up and answered it to find Josie Gleeson in a bit of a state. Now Josie and her brother Mick were well into their eighties and lived next to the church nearly opposite our house.

“Ger, you'd better come I think Mick is dead” cried Josie,
“Right Maam lets go and see” says I

Neville called to see if he could assist and I told him to stay there and I'd be back shortly.


Josie had crossed the road and I scampered across and we entered through the back door and into the living room and sure enough Mick was in the chair still and serene in repose. I did a quick check and sure enough the poor misfortune had indeed passed away.

“Sorry for your troubles Josie, Mick has indeed passed on” says I
“We must say a decade of the rosary” says she

So we removed Mick's shoes, something Josie insisted upon, lit a couple of candles and knelt down to say the rosary.

At that particular moment Neville appeared at the back door. The sun was just rising and was directly behind him and he filled the door with an eerie glow of the morning sun around him,

“Hi, it's Neville, I've come to help” he growled in his deep voice

Well, Josie let out one hell of a scream and promptly fainted on the floor at Mick's feet.

“Go and get my Father” says I and Neville headed off.

Josie started to come round and I helped her into a chair.

“Who was that” she stammered
“That was Neville, Maria's boyfriend over from England” says I
“Thank God” says she “I thought he said he was the Devil come to take Mick”


I phoned the Doctor and he said he was on his way. In the meantime my father had arrived and I shot to the back door to tell Neville he had better nip back over to the house as Josie was still a little apprehensive about letting the “devil” into her house.

Doctor Flynn arrived and in his best bedside manner promptly declared Mick dead (No Shiite Sherlock) and demanded £20 for his troubles. I knew I should have gone to medical school.

The ould lad, ever the entrepreneur, sealed the rights to the funeral and proceeded to make arrangements.


Innocent times sorely missed,

[duke3016]

A good few years ago, on a Saturday, I was having a wee refresher in Mike Slattery's bar in the village. It was a lovely small bar with a narrow entrance and a slightly wider area at the back of the bar. He built a huge bar & lounge next door later on and it didn't quite retain the character.

Anyway this French tourist arrived in and he had fairly good English, which was good, because as you can imagine our French was about as good as our Swahili. He asked for directions to O'Brien's Bridge.

First response was from the resident lush and knower or all things important who ended (and punctuated) most sentences with the word right..

“You go down the road, right, take the second left, right, then past old Tom's place, right !, turn right, right !, then on past Mrs Murphy's, right !, hang a left, right !, continue 2 miles past the old mill, right !, then second right, right !, then immediate left, right ! and the village is on your right, right. !”

The tourist was glazing over.

Second response was from old Peter Cox who had never left the village all his life unless it was to go to another bar. His directions invariably had to be via noted hostelries. 

“Don't mind him sir, go through the village, left at Minogue's bar, left again at the Blacksticks, continue on until Kelly's, turn left until you hit Jimmy Danny's bar, turn right. Go along that road until Wuthering Heights bar then turn left and it's straight on to the bridge.”

The tourist was losing the will to live.

Third response was from the owner of the bar,

“If I was you son, I wouldn't start from here at all, will ye have a pint while your waiting”


Mike normally wasn't known for his wit but I think that a similar scenario was used in an advertisement for Guinness (or was it Harp) around that time and he was probably waiting for weeks for the chance to lob it into the conversation.


priceless

[duke3016]

One year I met a lovely woman with a passion for charity work, her enthusiasm was so infectious that when she asked me to host some pub quizzes around the county for charity, I couldn't resist. There were two notable incidents.

The first one was in Vinnie Henchy's bar in Scarriff and they were playing a motley crew from Jimmy Jacko's. I arrived at the pub armed with my trusty questions ordered a pint and asked Vinnie..

“Well Vinnie, got a good team for tonight” says I
“Team, what fecking team” says he
“You entered a team in the inter pub challenge for charity” says I
“Feck, is that what I paid for” says he.

He surveyed the pub and promptly picked four people and told them in no uncertain terms they were recruited. The opposition arrived and Jacko's had packed the team, they were all teachers from the secondary school, God he was taking this serious.

The layout was that both teams sat opposite each other and were asked in turn individual questions, starting with easy ones working up to more difficult ones. I had reached the last question for Jacko's and the contestant was the deputy head of the secondary school.

“What is a cox's orange pippin” says I

Well the arrogant eejit leant back and puffed on his pipe, pausing for maximum effect, running down the clock with a smirk on his face. At that very minute one of the spectators decided to let his passion get the better of himself.

He stepped up behind the contestant slapped him hard on the head and shouted.

“It's an apple you fecking eejit” he cried.

The fight then started in earnest and my money was on Henchy's

priceless

[duke3016]

When Scarriff decided to form a rugby team in the early seventies I went along to the meeting in order to sign up.

Now normally people are chosen for there ability in certain positions. Not in this case.

You were a Front row player if you were mad, violent, psychopathic and totally fearless ..

You were a second row if you were over 6' 2”

You were a back row if you didn't fit the above except for the violent bit.

You were scrum half because you were the chairman's son

You were out half because you could spell the word rugby

The centres were chosen because they part owned the pub whose toilets were used as the changing rooms.

The wingers and full back positions were filled by the remaining members at the meeting.


We played tactical rugby with the centres never receiving a pass and the ball never going out of the forwards.

We didn't win many matches, but we never lost a fight

Good days

[duke3016]

In my experience (limited that it is) I have found when it comes to members of the opposite sex, the harder you try the more difficult it gets.

When I was running round the country in my youth trying to impress the fairer sex, I seemed to fail miserably when trying the hardest.

We were in Lisdoonvarna one night and there was a crowd of us in a bar when we espied one of the most, if not the most, beautiful girl it has ever been my pleasure to espy, sitting at the bar on her own. Nah she must have a boyfriend, she was drop dead achingly gorgeous.

The conversation was a little muted between us as we took sneaky looks in her direction, often I might add, wondering if any mere mortal would stand a chance of going out with her.

She seemed to have telepathic abilities, because if a lad came within 10 feet of her she would look at him and he would wither and die under the gaze, slinking back from whence he came with his tail firmly between his legs.


“bloody hell, there is no chance with that one” says Denis
“I don't know” says I, full of bravado
“Feck off, you have two chances, none and feck all” says Pat
“bet you I could get her to go out with me” says I, hackles well and truly risen.
“Ok you're on, a fiver each says you can't” oops bluff called
“Ok' says I “You're on” swallowing hard and thinking OMG here comes my downfall and complete humiliation.

She seemed to be on the verge of leaving so I gathered up what was left of my courage and walked across, my shields deflecting the photon torpedoes she was firing from her eyes as she contemplated my ultimate demise with the maximum of embarrassment. .

“Don't kill me yet” says I “just hear me out”

Her beautiful green eyes seemed to grab me and punch me in the stomach as a mischievous glint appeared in them.

“I would take it as a distinct favour if you would let me accompany you to the door when you are leaving and once outside we can go our separate ways” blurted I
“Why” she smiled obviously intrigued.

Oh my God that smile would have melted pure granite and it made my insides do a loop de loop before they settled back into some sort of normal position.

“To be honest” says I “my friends are so certain that you will knock me back and would never even contemplate being in my company for more that 1 second, that they have put money on it”

The eyes blazed from green to a stunning whirlpool of colours and the photon torpedoes were joined by phasers on full power.

“It's a bet!!” she whispered through gritted teeth
“Yes” squeaked I, going bright red and falling even deeper into her eyes

“Buy me a drink then” says she

Well feathers and being knocked down sprung to mind and I bought her a drink being careful to keep my back to the lads as my breathing tried to return to some sort of normality. We made a little small talk and to be honest I can't remember a word, only that her voice was as soft as the morning rain.

“I'm ready to go now” says she.

We walked to the door and, fair play, she put her hand in mine as we exited. I sneaked a look at the lads and they were aghast with jaws dropping near the floor.

Once outside, I looked down at her..

“Thanks for that I know it was a silly and stupid thing to do, I apologise and I really appreciate it” says I
“No problem” says she “Now we are outside how about another drink somewhere else, that'll keep them wondering and you can tell me what else you are willing to bet on”
“It will be my absolute pleasure” says I

That was the start of a relationship that was perfect in every way until we parted the best of friends a couple of months later.

[duke3016]

Now it's a known fact that religion has been the catalyst for more conflict than we care to recall.  No more so than in Northern Ireland. Now Ger's mother came from Northern Ireland and when we were still together we had to attend her brother's funeral.

Now Sean committed a cardinal sin in that he had a rush of blood to his head. He was born a Catholic and later in life decided to try the Anglican faith for a change. Shock horror, he would have been better off, and be better understood, if he had become a serial killer.

When he died, he was laid out at home and as his wife was a Catholic the house was in a Catholic area and there was a steady stream of Priests and Nuns arriving at the house in order to reclaim the lost soul.

He had made final wishes that the service be held in the Anglican chapel. His wife respected that wish but only because he would then be buried in the Catholic graveyard. So off we went to the service and there was a huge crowd of relatives and friends outside the church. They would not go in for fear that the minute they passed though the portal of the opposition they would be consumed in God's vengeful fires of retribution.

The family had swallowed their particular prejudices and were going into the chapel and cast a lonely sight as they filled up the front two rows only. As I passed through the door I was pleasantly surprised that I did not turn into a pile of smouldering ash. We had to endure the Anglican minister's speech about how Sean saw the light and found religion on their side of the fence, wasting no opportunity to put the boot into the Catholic religion. Gabrielle's family were spitting feathers in the front row.

Service over, we carried the coffin outside and there was no shortage of people willing to assist the coffin down to the Catholic graveyard. It was shouldered all the way down and the crowd milled around happy to join in now it was away from the opposition's lair.

We walked into the graveyard and at the graveside were at least 20 priests & nuns using force of will to welcome the sinner back into the fold. The gist of the eulogy was that he had strayed but, hah,  now we have got him back. They also wasted no opportunity to put the boot into the Anglican religion.

It's little wonder that religion causes friction

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

Now there are times when your mouth kind of runs away before the brain is in gear. Usually when you are distracted, tired or drunk or all three.

Myself, Denis and Sean O'Halloran were out one evening in Broadford and decided to hit for Ennis to go to a dance. Denis was driving and he had a rather beat up two door Ford Escort. Sean got in the back and we set off.

Now the only thing besides fighting that Denis was worse at was driving. Consequently the road bent round to the left outside of Bradford and the car didn't. We left the road and the car seemed to roll a couple of times and came to a halt the right way up.

I checked all my extremities and they seemed to be working and looked over at Denis who was slumped against the window with blood all over his forehead. I had nothing else so I took off my shirt and wiped away at his forehead. There was a gash just on his hairline which bled a lot but didn't seem to be too deep. He was conscious and swearing a lot so he looked fine.

I looked into the back seat and there was no sign of Sean. WTF, where was he. The next thing there was a rap on the side window that frightened the Shiite out of me. It was Sean.

“You OK lads” says he
“WTF, how are you out there” says I
“Don't know, just found myself in a field” says he

I looked at the back of the car again and there was no back window. He must have fallen out. I got out and felt fine, Sean said he was fine not a scratch and Denis had stopped bleeding. We struggled to the road and flagged down a car. The car was full of people and the driver on hearing the story threw them all out and took us to the hospital in Ennis.

We were checked over and because it was a head wound Denis was kept in overnight for observation. Sean and I got a taxi home and I went down to  Denis's house just to let them know what had happened. The Touhy's had no phone.

Denis's sister came to the upstairs window after I hammered on the door and I explained what happened and not to worry we would pick Denis up in the morning. I then went home and crawled into bed.

I was awoken by Margaret knocking on my bedroom door telling me that Mrs Touhy and her daughter were downstairs and wanted a word. I dressed hurriedly and went down to meet them.

“We were a little confused last night Ger, can you tell us what happened” says she
“We had a bit of an accident but Denis is OK he was kept in for observation only” says I
“Oh good” says she “Are you Ok”
“Oh yes fine” says I

I noticed she was staring at my shirt and I realised that in my hurry to dress I had put on last nights shirt. Now the shirt was a mess covered in blood. I looked down at the shirt.

“Oh that's not my blood, it's Denis's” says I

Two strong cups of tea later she had sufficiently recovered to leave the house.

[duke3016]

A Poem For Those Over 40

A computer was something on TV
From a science fiction show of note
A window was something you hated to clean
And ram was the cousin of a goat.

Meg was the name of my girlfriend
And gig was a job for the nights
Now they all mean different things
And that really mega bites.

An application was for employment
A program was a TV show
A curser used profanity
A keyboard was a piano.

Memory was something that you lost with age
A CD was a bank account
And if you had a 3 inch floppy
You hoped nobody found out.

Compress was something you did to the rubbish
Not something you did to a file.
And if you unzipped anything in public
You"d be in jail for awhile.

Log on was adding wood to the fire
Hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And a back up happened to your commode.

Cut you did with a pocket knife.
Paste you did with glue
A web was a spider"s home
And a virus was the flu.

I guess I"ll stick to my pad and paper
And the memory in my head
I hear nobody"s been killed in a computer crash
But when it happens, they"ll wish they were dead.

ANON

[duke3016]

My Uncle Declan (Dex) was my mother's brother and had inherited the diminutive stature of the O'Kielys and the temper to match. He spent much of his young life in the Irish Army and he joined the ould lad, in England, working on the buildings in the 50's.

He had a wicked sense of humour and fondness for the foaming ale. In Ireland there are two distinct “Black” days in the drinking calendar when the pubs are 'officially' closed for business. These are Good Friday & Xmas Day.

Therefore it was seen as a challenge to find a pub that was open on these days and to be honest it wasn't very hard. On one particular Good Friday, Dex called to the house to see if I would be interested in 'finding' one of these pubs.

Does a beer Shiite in the woods. We set off.

We knew that the Blacksticks would be one of the favourites and off we went. We went along the back road by Kelly's and arrived at the cross approximately 200 yards from the pub. Parked at this cross were about 10 cars a good sign that the pub was open for business.

We parked up and walked towards the pub. Any self respecting Guard seeing no cars outside the pub and a rake of them at the cross would have been hard pressed not to get 4 when putting 2 & 2 together, priceless.

We came to the door and Dex knocked, we heard cries of “shush” from within, another good sign. Then we could hear Paddy's size 13 feet coming down the hall to the door.

Before he opened the door Paddy whispered.

“Who is it” says he
“Dex and Ger Smyth” was the reply
“When were you here last” says he

Now that is a sensible question to ascertain whether Paddy thinks you are a regular or not and it deserved an honest and sensible answer along the lines of “I have drank in this pub many a time over the last few weeks you eejit” etc etc etc  Oh No

“We were here last Christmas” says Dex quoting the only other 'Black' day

Despite his attempt at humour we of course got in and had a good day.

Priceless

[duke3016]

Cancel, Retry, Ignore

Once upon a midnight dreary,
Fingers cramped and vision bleary,
Player specs piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of duvets sinning,
Still I sat here playing poker and winning:
Having reached the big decision, I took a ciggy from the drawer.

Typing with a steady hand,
I then invoked the "All in" command
But got instead a reprimand: it read, "Cancel, Retry, Ignore?"
Was this some occult illusion?
Some manacal type intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.

Carefully I weighed my options...
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly I must now adopt one; choose: Cancel, Retry, Ignore?
With my fingers pale and trembling
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored

Praying for some guarantee,
Finally I pressed a key.
But what on the screen did I see? Again "Cancel, Retry, Ignore?"
I tried to catch the chips off guard -
I pressed again, but twice as hard,
But luck was just not on the cards, I saw what I had seen before.

Now I typed in desperation
Trying random combinations.
Still there came the incantation "Cancel, Retry, Ignore."
There I sat, distraught, exhausted,
By my own machine accosted
getting up, I turned away and paced across the kitchen floor.

And then I saw an awful sight
A bold and blinding flash of light
A lightening bolt that cut the night, and shook me to my very core.
The PC screen collapsed and died.
"OH NO! MY BANKROLL!" I cried.
I heard a distant voice reply, "You"ll see your money...nevermore!"

To this day I do not know
The place to which our money goes.
perhaps it goes to heaven, where the angels have it stored.
But as for Productivity, well,
I fear this has gone straight to Hell.
And that"s the tale I have to tell - your choice: Cancel, Retry, Ignore.

ANON

[duke3016]

I got up one Saturday morning, feeling a little tender, looking forward to the prerequisite Lucozade and wagon wheel when I looked out the window. There was a space where my car should be.

FFS I know I didn't drive home last night, but I was certain I didn't drive to where I was going either. So the car should have been there where I left it after coming home from work.

Think.

I know I started off in Mike's then went on to Scarriff, but to be honest the end of the night was a little hazy to say the least. I was certain that it wasn't nicked because it was as bad a pile of junk as you ever did see and no self respecting thief would be seen dead in it. Now I could report it stolen and have the Guards find it for me. But the Guards couldn't find water if they fell out of a boat.  It'll come to me, I went out into the shop.

“Where's your car” says the ould lad

Now I wasn't going to say I didn't know, was I

“I left it in Scarriff last night, didn't want to drive home” says I
“Makes a fecking change” says the ould lad, ever the Mr nice guy
“I didn't hear you drive off last evening” continued the ould lad
“Aye it's running good that old car” says I

He gave me a look usually reserved for people who have just robbed him of his last pound and I finished my Lucozade and wagon wheel and went out, first stop Mike's. The car wasn't outside and I went in and the usual cronies were there. I ordered a pint and tried to think. Nope I hadn't a clue. 

I cadged a lift to Scarriff and did a quick scan before going into Henchy's. Nope, no sign.

Sigh. It was a nice day anyway so I had a couple of pints, played a few games of 45 and basically did what I usually did on a Saturday, continued on the lash. The Craic was good that day and the music that night was very good and the girls were looking exceptionally beautiful that evening.

I woke up the next morning with a monumental hangover and looked out the window. The car was there outside my window as usual. WTF now I was really getting paranoid. I got washed and dressed and went to mass and returned to the shop for the usual Sunday morning rush.

“Drove fecking home then last night” says the ould lad. Bugger !
“No” says I
“Then how the feck did the car get there this morning” says he
“I dropped it back during the afternoon” lied I
“Feck off” says he “I would have heard you”
“Old age Da, you didn't hear me leave either” says I, not turning to dust with the withering look that I got

The rush over, I went into the kitchen and greeted my sainted mother.

“Freddie Welch left this for you” says she

There was a six pack of drink on the table. WTF

“That was nice of you to lend your car to Freddie on Friday so he could have the car for the day to go to Limerick, he dropped it back last night while your father was in bed” Thank God for that

“You're such a good boy” says she

Promises were made that day concerning drink that of course were never kept.

Priceless days sorely missed