Duke attempts the Impossible

[duke3016]

I make no apologies for most of my ramblings revolving around being in a public house. These were the heartbeat of the nation, the social centre of life itself. I am not talking about your plastic city pubs, I am taking about the real village pub.

You could be from anywhere and arrive into one of these pubs and within seconds you would be engaged in conversation, giving your life story to a complete stranger. If the government's employed these denizens of the village pub to help with their interrogations, there would be no more terrorism.

Your average Irish barman was probably the owner as well or at least a relative of the owner. Also the same barman would be the master of extracting information along with being adept at the art of repeating what you say as a question. In fact a vast majority of what comes out of the barman's mouth is a question and he/she is relentless.

As you walk in for the first time the conversation could go something like this.

Barman: “What'll ya have ?”
Tourist: “A pint of beer please”
Barman: “Is it a beer ya want ?”
Tourist: “Yes please”
Barman: “And what beer would that be ?”
Tourist: “Harp please”
Barman: “Harp is it ?”
Tourist: “Yes Please”
Barman: “and where would you be from ?”
Tourist:  “South Africa”
Barman: “South Africa eh ?”
Tourist:  “Yes”
Barman: “And what brings you to Ireland ?”
Tourist:  “Holiday, looking up family ties”
Barman: “Holiday is it ?”
Tourist:  “Yes”
Barman: “Family from around here ?”
Tourist:  “Yes, from Tulla”
Barman: “From Tulla is it ?”
Tourist: “Yes” 
Barman: “And who would your Father have been ?”
Tourist:  “My father was South African my Mother was from Tulla”
Barman: “Father South African eh, And who is your mother ?”
Tourist:  “Mary Kelly”
Barman: “Mary Kelly is it ?”
Tourist:  “Yes”
Barman: “From Tulla ?”
Tourist:  “Yes”
Barman: “Went to South Africa ?”
Tourist:  “Yes”
Barman: “Nope don't know her, however I knew a Nancy Ryan who went to America”

Rinse and repeat for an hour and the tourist will have given up the will to live.

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

[duke3016]

Near to Nyons was a wonderful restaurant which had a full wall of awards outside the door and came highly recommended for a meal. It was in the village of Vinsobres, built on a hill and has a delightful Priory as its focal point.

We entered the restaurant to be greeted warmly and invited to have a drink while we perused the menu. The detail of the starter's is a little hazy except that I had l'escargot beautifully marinated in a garlic mixture. The fun was to come when we ordered the main course.

Ger had spaghetti carbonara and the girls had another variation of pasta, I ordered the fillet steak and requested that it be cooked rare (“Bleu”) as that is my preference. It was not, however Gabrielle's.

“Madame?” inquired the waiter pen poised
“Fillet Steak, well done “ says she
“Pardon madam ?” says he gob open wide as a barn door
“Steak, very well done” says she

He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. I shrugged my own shoulders and whispered.

“tres bien cuit monsieur” says I looking embarrassed
“Non, Monsieur Non” he said looking extremely afraid as he glanced at the kitchen.
“Oui” says I

He sighed and walked towards the kitchen. Gabrielle looked at me.

“What was that about” says she
“I think you might find out shortly that you have offended the chef” says I
“How?” says she
“By asking for a well done steak, you know they don't burn their food” says I
“I'm paying, I want it well done” says she.

Apart from the mute point that I was paying anyway, I stayed quiet. That was more than could be said for the kitchen. Two voices were heard in heated argument in such rapid French that I could only make out a few words. Amongst the words were references to our heritage and parentage that would, in normal circumstances, necessitate a rolling up of sleeves and invitation to the car park.

The waiter came out smiled a forced smile and departed for the front bar. The noise continued in the kitchen and then the door burst open and out came the chef, looking splendid in his high hat and apron. He strode purposely towards our table shouting unintelligibly at the top of his voice.

He stopped and stared at Gabrielle and stopped shouting.

“You want your meat like table” he said rapping his knuckles on the table
“Ok you have meat like table” and he departed into the kitchen reverting back to screaming obscenities in French.

The meal (ours anyway) was beautiful and Gabrielle ate hers in silence apart from saying it was OK. I went to pay for the bill and noticed that Gabrielle's steak was not on it. I pointed this out and was told politely that Gabrielle's steak never existed and he would be obliged if it stayed that way.

Never ask a French Chef for a well done steak. Ever --- priceless

[duke3016]

When we were staying in the Chateaux Neuf region we decided to travel to Avignon after lunch, in order to see the famous “pont”. As we drove into the city there was a police road block and they were pulling every car.

As we got nearer to the head of the queue I could see they were breathalysing drivers. Now I had no drink that day as I don't drink and drive, however I had consumed a goodly amount the night before.

My mind started racing, had the excess of the night before disappeared from my bloodstream, of course it had, or had it. FFS stop worrying you're ok I told myself. As each car crept forward I started to doubt it more. Car impounded, and as Gabrielle didn't drive I might as well leave the frigging car there.

I pulled up alongside the nice policeman and he handed me the bag. It was the old manual type and not the digital one. I blew manfully into it and handed it back. FFS what was the limit here, had they set it to zero, was I fecked.

He looked at it and walked across to another policeman who checked it and shook his head. FFS what did the shake of the head mean. Did it mean that I had failed or did it mean, no unfortunately you can't shaft the driver you'll have to let him go.

They had a conversation for a while as I felt the blood drain from my body. At least if I opted for a blood test they wouldn't find any. He walked back across with that particular look that all policemen have. You know the one, it's designed to make you feel guilty about something even if you have done nothing.

Before he reached the car he waved me on and proceeded to the car behind. Relief was an understatement I was so drained, I knew I was OK because it had been over 14 hours since I had a drink, but there is always a niggling doubt in situations like that.

[duke3016]

Now I have had a couple of notable encounters with the fine gentlemen of the French Police Force whilst driving around. In one instance I was driving towards Gap, the town not the store, when I was waved to the side by two very large and very armed policemen, positioned in the middle of the road.

I pulled into a little lay by and one of them approached my side of the car.

“Registration” he growled in French

Now the car was a company car and I had received a travel pack from the car department before leaving. It was in the car and I fumbled in it and FFS no V5. I handed him the letter from the company that basically said that this was a company vehicle and I had permission to drive it. I also handed him my licence and a copy of the insurance document.

“Registration” he repeated after glancing at the documents I had handed him.

At this point he rested his hand on the butt of his revolver, now his hand might have been tired from waving in cars but it put the wind up me. I had visions of the car being impounded and me ending up in jail.

I tried to explain in halting French that it was a company car and I had neglected to get a copy of the V5. He did not understand a fecking word I was saying and he looked like his patience was coming to an end.

He stepped back from the door and said something, and it was obvious that he meant for me to get out of the car. I opened the door and stepped out. At this stage he entered into a conversation with his older colleague, waving the documents I gave him. I was quivering like a leaf in a gale force wind at this time.

The older of the two approached me and in halting English said.

“So, this is not your car”

FFS now I will get arrested for grand theft auto amongst other things.

“It is but it isn't, it belongs to my company” I mumbled and squeaked

He turned to his mate and said something and was handed the meagre documents that I had. He glanced at them and turned to me. His mate took station a little to his left with his hand still on the butt of his gun, looking for all the world like he wanted me to twitch out of turn so he could have an excuse to shoot me.

The older policeman handed me back my documents and saluted smartly.

“Merci Monsieur, Bon Journee”

I got back into my car without crapping myself and went to drive off, it was a good job the car was an automatic as my left leg had a mind of its own shaking as it was. I managed to pull out of the lay by and continue to Gap.

I made sure that I had the V5 on subsequent holidays..

[duke3016]

Now I have bored the pants off anyone foolish enough to listen, about how proud I am of Ger. He has always been  known as the “Wee Man”, although he is tipping the height chart at over 6 foot now. Even at the aquarium last night other poker players now use the term and he takes it in his stride.

When he was 5 or 6 we were staying in a holiday complex in France that had a large communal pool equipped with a wave machine. He was bobbing along up to his shoulders in the pool, manfully trying to emulate the much better swimming prowess of his sisters, when the wave machine started up.

I was keeping an eagle eye on him as the waves got bigger and threatened to swamp him. He didn't shout, he didn't scream, he just calmly beckoned to me with his hand as he was slipping under with every wave. I reached him in double quick time and hoisted him up out of the water and made for shallow waters. I plonked him down and enquired as to his health.

“Fine, let's do that again” was his response. 

He is no bother at all, he doesn't run with the wrong crowd and he knows the values of respect. It is a great source of pride for me that he can now travel with me to APAT events and other activities.

If he gets off his lazy arse and reads this he will know that there are more cringing stories to come about his formative years. Watch this space.

He is great company and I love him to bits  priceless

[Fatcatstu]

He cant pick bloody bets on NBA though, can he!?!?! Bloody Cleveland.

[duke3016]

Now Ger's mother had a streak of stubbornness that never allowed her to be wrong. When we travelled to France by car we would normally stop part way down and stay in different places overnight each trip. One trip saw us staying in Beaune, a delightful town obsessed with wine. My kind of town !

We settled down for dinner on the veranda of the hotel on a beautiful warm evening. We had a lovely meal, and were choosing the desert when Gabrielle decided to have a selection of cheeses.  The waitress arrived with the cheese board and Gabrielle pointed to some Camembert and then a piece of Brie and then the fateful choice.

She pointed to a particular cheese on the board and the waitress seemed to shrink inside herself as she looked aghast and said in an incredulous voice.

“Le Bleu, is madam sure”

Well Gabrielle didn't know the cheese but was not about to be upstaged by a waitress.

“Of course” she snapped.

The waitress shrugged her shoulders and cut off a piece of “Le Bleu” and placed it on the plate and retreated as if she had placed Uranium 245 on the table. She went into the kitchen and a short time later it was like a cartoon as three heads slowly appeared round the jam of the door.

The dining area was in a kind of cathedral hush, which Gabrielle failed to notice as she forked a piece of camembert into her mouth. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as she cut off a piece of “Le Bleu” and it was making its way to her mouth.

It was nearing the destination and all eyes were on Gabrielle, when the aroma of the cheese must have hit her nostrils.

“Yeuuuuuuuk” she cried as she dropped her fork and made a face like she had swallowed two hundred wasps.

Well I couldn't keep a straight face and the three stooges in the doorway disappeared into the kitchen, while the rest of the diners seemed to have found renewed interest in their dinners.

Myself and the wee man spent the rest of the holiday saying “Le Bleu” in hushed dramatic tones at every opportunity.

Priceless

[duke3016]

When we were staying in Port Grimaud we hired a little motor boat to explore the bay. It was only a little thing but had a steady turn of speed and we headed off towards St Tropez.  It was funny with our little Phut Phut weaving amongst the super Yachts. We parked up and had a cool drink rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous. (IMO pretentious pratts)

We went further along the coast where the rich villa's are and there was a boat full of paparazzi at the base of one of them. We heard afterwards that it was George Michael's and Robbie Williams and Ginger Spice were supposed to be there, hence the photo frenzy.

The devil in me made me do it honest. I opened the throttle to its fullest and passed close to the paparazzi boat causing it to rock violently. I did laugh and got a ticking off from herself heh ho

We were making our way back to base when Gabrielle wanted to steer the boat. Ger and Marie were on the prow legs dangling and taking the rays when a big pillock in a huge boat came out of Port Grimaud harbour. He was leaving rather large waves in his wake.

I was relaxing in the stern and I calmly said.

“Point the boat into those waves”
“What?” says she
“Don't let the waves hit us broadside” says I a little more forcibly
“What?” says she
“Steer into the waves” roared I
“What?” says she

Too late we were clattered side on and Ger and Marie hung on for their lives and got drenched. I ended up flat on my face and Gabrielle fell back on top of me. We didn't capsize and I managed to get the boat back in one piece.

Women drivers  priceless

[duke3016]

When we were building the shop in the early 70's we encountered the monolithic machine that was the Electricity Supply Board (ESB). This National institution provided employment for thousands of people and worked in very mysterious ways.

The plot where the shop was built was slap bang in the middle of two supply poles (all electricity was provided by overhead lines) and we were told that a new pole had to be erected alongside the plot.

Fair enough, we had finished the wiring in the shop and were waiting to be connected. Then an astonishing series of events unfolded.

First off all, on the Monday, a truck arrived and 2 men dropped the new pole and promptly drove off before the ould lad could collar them.

On the Tuesday a team of 6 men arrived and dug the hole. Well one young lad dug the hole and the other five annoyed the mother for water in order to have a brew. The ould lad was starting to boil over.

“FFS 6, fecking 6 men to dig a fecking hole” says he.

On Wednesday a team of 4 men arrived to erect the pole.

“FFS 4, fecking 4 men to put up fecking pole” says he.

On Thursday a team of 6 men arrived to interrupt the supply of electricity for the day and connect the wires to the pole.

“FFS 6, fecking 6 men to run a wire between two fecking poles” says he.

At this point myself and the mother were thinking of moving out for a couple of days as the ould lad was getting unbearable to live with.

On Friday 2 men arrived to run a wire from the pole to the mother board and when they were finished.

“At fecking last, now where's the main fuse” fumed the ould lad
“Not our job” says man 1
“Specialist job that” says man 2
“FFS it's a mickey mouse job you fecking eejits” he was on form that day.
“Union rules” says man 1
“Union rules” repeated man 2

After telling them what he thought of them and their union they departed. He got on the phone and repeated his opinion to the area manager and went into overdrive when he was told that the “main fuse man” wouldn't be out until Monday. He gripped the phone and his knuckles went white and I retired to a respectable distance as he stood holding the phone and swore constantly for a good 5 minutes. The eloquence and delivery of this tirade was wondrous to behold and I stood there in awe at his rich and varied vocabulary. I think that even the area manager was impressed, despite the fact that his ancestry, birth circumstances, personality and everything else was drawn into the mix.

On Monday a suited and booted man arrived, put in the main fuse, and sealed it. At this stage the ould lad was worn out and didn't utter a word.

A total of 8 days and 21 men to put up a pole and run a wire to the shop.

Priceless. 

[duke3016]

We went to France one year, using a website that had normal people homes that were only rented out for a few weeks of the year. It was a big change away from the villa/holiday villages that we had used before. We had the address and the time we had to arrive and we duly pulled up alongside a bungalow in Ste Maxime on the south coast.

An elderly couple were there to meet us and I had absolutely no idea what they were saying as their French was rapid and regional. I eventually worked out that a deposit was required, he wrote down the amount and it was duly paid.

They showed us the house and I still had no idea WTF they were saying. It was a lovely wee house, spotless and with all we required. At this stage I was not only tired from the drive, but also frustrated by my lack of understanding.

I had a few bottles of wine that I had purchased along the route and I cracked one open and pointed to a glass whilst looking at the couple. Well their eyes lit up and they drew up a couple of chairs and while Gabrielle and the children unpacked the car we launched into the wine.

Through signs and schoolboy French we managed to get the following facts. I played rugby, as did he, he had no love of the English (I never found out why) and he loved to drink.

But do you know what was very strange, after three hours and numerous bottles of wine we were having protracted conversation and we found that we understood each other perfectly.

Priceless

[Scousebill]

And you didn"t help to unload the car....

Well Done.....

That is an Art.....

[duke3016]

And you didn"t help to unload the car....

Well Done.....

That is an Art.....

Probably why I am single 

[duke3016]