Head Rambles

Archive for the 'Around the village' Category

Stony

Grandad June 12th, 2008

Life has gone very quiet here for the last few days.

This is very unusual. There is nearly always something weird going on, but not this week.

There were a couple of explosions the other night, but that was just Stony.

Stony owns the local quarry [and the Land Fill]. He’s a very nice bloke, and we often have a pint and a smoke together in the pub. But Stony has a problem. I won’t call him bi-polar or anything drastic like that, but he has the occasional fit of depression. You can always tell when one of these moods is coming on, because he starts drinking whiskey.

The word quickly spreads in the village if Stony is on the whiskey, and we all go home and stay there. Because Stony gets a little violent when he is in a mood, and you don’t want to be near a bloke who is a bit violent and has a pocket full of plastic explosive.

I keep telling him not to carry plastic around with him, but he says that you never know when it may come in handy. He pointed out that people often want tree stumps removed or a badly parked tour bus shifted, and I suppose he has a point. He also likes to give lumps of plastic to the local kids so they can use it as modelling clay. He’s very thoughtful.

But something was demolished the other night. It was probably just a few trees. He has been known to blow up an outbuilding or two but no one ever really gets hurt.

Things have been quiet since. Very quiet.

I get nervous when things are so quiet.

Rural depopulation

Grandad May 3rd, 2008

I went down to the village yesterday.

It was a nice sunny day, though there was a bit of a nip in the air. It was ideal weather for a coffee and a smoke of the pipe.

The terrace in front of the coffee shop was packed, which surprised me as it was Friday. Then I discovered they were all Dutch. They weren’t wearing clogs or anything like that, but I recognised the language. I was a bit annoyed that they had taken my usual table but there is always a place kept for me, so Sandy and I settled down.

I had a bit of a problem with all these Dutch. There were a lot of them and I only had the car with me, so logistics decided their fate. I just wasn’t in the mood for multiple trips to the land fill.

Later, I was wandering down to buy some tobacco and I heard the unmistakable screech of an American accent. There were three of them and they were chatting to a local. Sandy and I implemented our usual plan. Sandy pretended to have a dump [I knew she was only pretending, because she is incredibly discreet about her toiletries], and I lit my pipe.

I was disgusted. The Americans were looking for directions, and he was actually telling them the right way.

They thanked him [I found it hard not to throw up], and told them that he seemed to know the area very well. He replied in an awful Stage Oirish manner “yarra, sure I have lived here for sixty years, man and boy”. At that stage I did throw up, and Sandy did do a dump.

I let the Americans go.

But I did have my trip to the land fill.

We have standards to maintain in the village, after all.

New licensing laws will solve all

Grandad April 24th, 2008

I went down to the pub for a pint last night.

Pullit served me my pint, and I lit up the pipe.

"Were you listening to that shower saying their goodbyes to Bertie?" he asked.

"That shower of hypocritical sycophants? No chance!"

That confused him a bit, as I keep forgetting he doesn’t do the Irish Times crossword, but he got the gist.

"What do you think about the latest thing to cut down drinking?" I asked.

He sighed. "Another fucking law. They can stuff it up their arses."

"So you’re not going to install CCTV then?"

"I am in my hole!"

"A good place," I replied. "Now’s your chance to install one in the ladies jax."

"Hah! I hadn’t thought of that one. Good thinking, Grandad."

"And what about their sting operation? Sending kids in to order drinks so they can trap you?"

"Jayzus! Where are they going to find sixteen year old Gardai? Anyway if some kid came in here dressed in a Garda uniform, I think I’d spot him."

Just then, nine year old Jimmy came in for his granny’s nightly takeaway of a pint of Guinness, so Pullit stabbed out his cigarette and went to serve him.

I feel sorry for the people in the cities, having to put up with all these crazy laws.

gunness_child

Be nice to Grandad

Grandad March 17th, 2008

I went down to the pub last night.

I met Spanner who is an old friend of mine. He is the local mechanic, but can turn his hand to most things.

"Down for your Paddy’s Day drink?" he said.

"Nah! Just a pint. I don’t hold with any of that Paddy’s Day bollox. It’s just an excuse to get us all mad on drink, and for the politicians to fuck off abroad and spend our money having a fancy holiday for themselves."

"True enough. We haven’t seen much of you in here lately?"

"Busy."

"Busy, my arse. You just sit up in that cottage doing fuck all. What have you been at?"

"Writing the book."

"I thought you had given up on that. What’s it about anyway?"

"Nothing much. Just life in the village."

"Jayzus! Am I in it?"

"Of course you’re in it. Everyone is in it. All my friends, neighbours, enemies and relations."

"For fuck’s sake, you’ll be sued down to hell and back."

"Nah. I’ve changed the names slightly. Anyway, you can’t be sued for telling the truth."

The colour of Spanners face nicely matched the colour of the head of his pint. "But you can’t write about… You can’t mention… Fuck! You have. Haven’t you?"

"Yup. Everything."

"Shit! We’re finished."

"Don’t worry about it," I said. "It’s being sold as a work of fiction."

He thought about that for a moment.

"I suppose I’d better be nice to you so?"

"It would help," I said, draining my pint.

"You’ll have another pint?" said Spanner.

"I will," I said. "Make it a large one."

Divine justice

Grandad March 10th, 2008

We went down to the village yesterday.

We knew the weather was going to be a little inclement for the next few days, so we thought we’d enjoy the good stuff while it lasted.

Herself went pottering off to the shops and Sandy and I headed for a coffee.

We sat in the cosy corner, under the canopy out of the breeze. The place was quite full, and it was pleasant there. Sandy made lots of friends.

A group came along and sat down. One of the group was on a mission. He had a thing about smoking. His three companions all lit up their cigarettes and listened to him politely while he regaled them with the evils of tobacco. I listened politely too, as I didn’t have much choice.

Herself came and joined us and asked me what the bloke was on about.

"Anti-smoker," says I.

"Ah," says Herself, as she lit up.

Next thing the heavens opened. It was one of those downpours that takes no prisoners. It pissed down.

And the anti-smoker was the only one who was outside the shelter of the canopy, and there were no vacant chairs for him to move to.

He sat out there getting soaked. The fires of his passion had been somewhat dampened.

We all supped our coffee and smiled at him as the fires of our cigarettes and my pipe glowed brightly.

So there is a God.

But is He pro-smoking, or just anti-anti-smokers?

I must ask Him sometime.

Monday morning blues

Grandad January 21st, 2008

It’s Monday morning and I’m in one of those moods.

There is a howling gale outside and I’m cold, because I have all the windows open. I have to keep them open because the wind is making the boiler smoke. I’d switch off the boiler, but then Herself would complain. Frankly, I’d rather suffer the cold and wind.

I went down to the village to cheer myself up. That didn’t work, because there are no damned tourists around. There’s never a damned tourist when you want one, and then they appear in bus loads. Damned inconsiderate, I call it.

There was no parking either. I hate that. Surely they know I’m coming? I had to park at a bus stop, on top of a Garda ‘No Parking’ cone which I squished. Serves them right for putting it there.

They tell me that when women want cheering up, they go shopping, so I’m going to try that.

I’m going to buy one of these……..