Archive for the 'Tourists' Category

How to survive your first Guinness

Grandad October 10th, 2007

Most visitors to Ireland can’t wait to try a real pint of Guinness.

They are right. It’s the only country where you can get a real pint. The foreign stuff is the piss they scrape off the top. They have to get rid of it somewhere.

However, your first pint is potentially the most lethal trap you will have to encounter. 99% of tourists give themselves away on this one. So here is how to do it….

Enter the pub. Look nonchalant. Don’t look as if you are about to have a life changing experience. Walk casually to the bar and wait. Don’t call the barman. Don’t rap a coin on the counter. He’ll come to you.

If he speaks with a foreign accent, get the f*ck out of there. He won’t know how to pull a pint.

He’ll ask you what you want. Just say “pint, please”. If he asks “a pint of what?” then scowl at him and snarl “Guinness, of course”. Most barmen won’t ask anyway, as Guinness is the ‘pint’ by default.

He will then take a pint glass and fill it about two thirds to three quarters full and place it on the counter.

First Trap: LEAVE THE DRINK THERE. DON’T TOUCH IT! The barman will probably walk away. Don’t mind that. Just stare into the distance. Go have a pee or a quick fag. But you must wait.

After a minute or two, he will come back and top it up to a full pint. Again DO NOTHING. Just wait. He will tinker around with it for a moment, and will eventually bring it over to you.

If he has engraved a shamrock in the head of the pint, then I suggest you sit down and write out your Last Will and Testament. You are as good as dead. The barman has spotted that you are a tourist and has flagged you. The locals look for this and will be quietly loading ammunition into their guns.

Second Trap [assuming you are still alive]: DON’T TOUCH THE PINT. It will still be settling. You have to wait until there is a crisp demarcation line between the black and the white. The longer you wait, the better. At this stage, it is perfectly acceptable to stare at the pint.

Guinness

Third trap: The locals will be watching you to see how you approach the pint. If you try and slurp the white head off [or even worse, blow it off] you have signed your death certificate. The chances are that you will be hung off the wall and the locals will use you as a dartboard for the rest of the night.

Another fatal error is to sip the pint. Sipping is for nancies and their glasses of wine. This is Guinness, for f*ck’s sake. You grasp the glass firmly in your fist and gulp back at least a quarter, if not a third of the contents. Act like this is the first drink you’ve had since coming out of the desert [which it is].

At this stage, the locals will begin to relax. You are quite entitled to burp at this stage [actually, it's unavoidable], but don’t do it too loudly.

If you are a wimp, and don’t like the taste, DON’T SHOW IT. Keep calm. Nip up and order a whiskey. That is acceptable. It’s called a Chaser. But you must finish the pint before knocking back the whiskey. [Which would you rather? Drinking a Guinness, or being shot?].

The chances are, you will like it. You can relax now. You can now savour it a mouthful at a time.

To really convince the locals that you are not a tourist, wait until you have about two inches left in the glass. Then catch the barman’s eye and raise one finger. This is the signal to start processing the next pint. This should arrive just as you finish the first.

Of course this now means that you have to continue ordering pints. Don’t worry about it. You have survived, and that is something to celebrate [if you need an excuse, that is?].

All this has made me thirsty. I think I’ll go and have a pint or five.

It is, after all, Puppychild’s third birthday.

It is time she was introduced to her first pint.

How Not to Look Like a Tourist

Grandad October 9th, 2007

Ireland is a nice country to visit.

The people are friendly and the Guinness is good.

I realise however, that I might have put some of you off with my tales of Tourist Shooting [one of our national sports]. So, just for you nice people who read my blatherings, I’m going to give some pointers on How Not to Look Like a Tourist. This could save your life, so read carefully.

Dress appropriately.

Irish people do not wear shorts, unless on the beach. Nor do they wear coats, unless it’s p*ssing out of the heavens. Loud colours are frowned upon, unless you are female or have female inclinations. The general rule is ‘dress scruffy’. A dab of cow-sh*t on the footwear is also good. Irish people never, ever wear Aran Sweaters. These were invented purely for ripping off Americans, and are a dead [sic] giveaway.

Travelling.

Never stop to read a road sign. All Irish people know that Irish road signs point in the wrong direction anyway, and ignore them. Anyone examining a road sign is a tourist, by definition.

Never ask for directions. You will more than likely end up over a cliff, or up in the bogs. If you are really lost, then be cunning. If you want to find the way to [say] Killarney, then stop someone and say “Jayzus, I need to be at a wedding in Killarney and I’m running late. What’s the quickest way?”

If you have non-Irish registration plates on your car - remove them. If you feel naked without them, then rob an Irish set off a parked car. You must also learn to drive like the Irish. Never indicate. Always hog the overtaking lane. Always drive too fast. Never take a bend on the correct side of the road. Always drive like you have just drunk a bottle of whiskey. Actually, to be on the safe side, it’s probably better to drink a bottle of whiskey before venturing anywhere.

Communicating.

This is a tricky one. An accent is a complete giveaway. Though with the current influx of immigrants, you are a bit safer. American accents are still not tolerated, so Americans should not speak at all. And if you must speak, keep your voices down. For some reason, tourists are always the noisiest table in the pub. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

If you come across a nice view, or something scenic, then, for God’s sake, just grunt. Loud exclamations of appreciation, or telling Harry to get the video camera are out.

That’s enough for now.

I’ll address the likes of Pub Etiquette at a later stage.

Rambles in the hills

Grandad October 6th, 2007

A couple of days ago, the Doctor and I went hunting.

As a new member of the club, I wanted him to have a good day. And it was. It was a glorious day. It was one of those crisp autumn afternoons, when the birds sang and the sun shone.

We were sitting on a rock, quietly enjoying the scent of the heather and bracken when a buck deer appeared. He was a magnificent specimen. He looked at us in that regal manner that only a buck deer can conjour.

Like lightning, Doc had his rifle up and sighted. He snapped off a quick shot. It was amazing to see the speed of his reaction.

It was a beautiful kill. One shot, straight through the temple. We went down to examine the body. It was a German tourist who had been just about to shoot the deer. B*st*rd! I hate people who kill for pleasure. We left him there for the foxes.

I think Doc is going to be a good addition to the club.

We were heading back, and he told me some of my blood test results were back. He apologised for mixing business with pleasure, but I said that was OK.

Apparently, I have a deficiency in my alcohol levels, and my nicotine count is alarmingly low. He gave me two prescriptions there and then. One is for three pints of Guinness to be taken nightly and the other is for 25 gms of pipe tobacco to be taken daily as required. These can be dispensed at the local pub and the tobacconist, in case the chemist is closed. And they are both covered by the Drug Refund Scheme. So it won’t cost me anything.

When you get older, it is vital to have a good doctor.

A quiet mug of coffee

Grandad September 24th, 2007

It was a lovely day on Saturday.

I decided to wander down to the village for a coffee and to get some petrol for the mower.

It was beautiful outside the coffee shop. Sandy lay at my feet and went to sleep in the sun. I got chatting to a couple of local blokes who are dog lovers. There were another couple of Tourists at the other table. They were both men and were holding hands. I decided to leave them alone because it was a nice day, and I don’t want to be accused of homophobia.

Now one of the Tourists stood up and tripped over Sandy. She didn’t mind. But he then turned around and kicked her in the ribs. Sandy minded that. Quick as lightning, she jumped to her feed and took his leg off, clean below the knee. She has very powerful jaws.

Tourist fell to the ground [he hadn't much option] and my two pals started lacing into him as we hate cruelty to animals. Tourist’s Boyfriend started having hysterics, and he started throwing things at me.

He threw a plate. It missed. It bounced off the windscreen of an SUV that was driving past. The driver was a Yummy Mummy who was yacking on her mobile phone at the time so whatever concentration she had left was gone, and she drove into the back of a tourist bus, and exploded in a ball of flame. Well, I’m not sure if it was herself or the SUV that exploded, but it was quite spectacular.

People started running around throwing jugs of water and milk on the SUV. I had my ten litres of petrol that I’d bought for the lawnmower, and someone grabbed it and threw that on the conflagration. That didn’t help.

In the meantime, Tourist’s Boyfriend was really beginning to annoy me, screeching at me and throwing bread rolls at me, so I kicked him in the nuts. That shut him up. The other bloke was pumping blood on the ground and managed to mutter something about suing me. I couldn’t resist it. I told him he hadn’t a leg to stand on.

We went home then. There was no point in staying because the peace and tranquillity of the moment was gone.

I let Sandy keep the leg as a souvenir.

Bloody tourists.

Wherefore art thou, Ron?

Grandad September 7th, 2007

I went for a pint last night.

The place was full of tourists, and they seemed to have driven the regulars away. I blame the sunshine.

Anyway, I sat outside on the bonnet of a brand new Land Rover Discovery that was illegally [and very badly] parked outside the pub, and enjoyed my pipe and pint as the evening settled in.

I was idly doodling on the paintwork of the Discovery with my car keys, when a couple of other smokers came over for a chat.

They were American, but apart from that they were a pleasant enough couple - Bill and MaryJayne from Lawnton near Harrisburg PA [or so they told me]. They chatted away and I listened. I missed Ron. Ron could be bloody irritating with his yacking on about web sites and football, but it would have been better that being told all the time what a wonderful country I live in.

They offered to buy me a drink. Things looked up. In fact they bought me a few.

Then Mick came over with the tray of drinks and said “there you go, Grandad”.

MaryJayne lit up. “Hey!” says she “Are you the guy who writes that Head Rambles thing? We love that. It’s so funny the way you rise us Americans.”

I admitted I was. I hate that. I like my anonymity. I cursed the odds that had placed them there. With odds like that I should be winning the lottery instead of having my ears bent.

They waffled on and on about how amaaazing it was to meet me and all the things I had written and wasn’t it a scream how I had invented this joke about shooting tourists.

“It is just a joke, isn’t it?” said MaryJayne and went off into shrieks of laughter.

I assured her that it was.

I offered them a lift back to their Bed and Breakfast place. They accepted.

As it happened, it wasn’t far from the landfill site.

You started it

Grandad August 20th, 2007

A lot of you are still concerned about my references to shooting tourists.

I explained the origins a couple of weeks ago.

But one thing you Americans have to understand about the latest frenzy of tourist shootings -

YOU STARTED IT.

It really started with the World Trade Centre.

For some strange reason Pea-Brain Bush decided it was tourists who caused that and made his famous declaration of “War on Tourism”.

warontourism.jpg
Some flags and a Pea-Brain

We will direct every resource at our command — every means of diplomacy, every tool of intelligence, every instrument of law enforcement, every financial influence, and every necessary weapon of war — to the destruction and to the defeat of the global tourism network.” he said.

From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support tourism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime. Our nation has been put on notice, we’re not immune from attack. We will take defensive measures against tourism to protect Americans.” he said.

It will not end until every tourist group of global reach has been found, stopped and defeated.” he said.

I was perfectly prepared to let him get on with it. If he wanted to get in on the game, then that was his business. But then he came up with the classic line of the bully “Either you are with us or you are with the tourists.“. So if I don’t agree with him, then I am a tourist? That was enough for me. I armed myself along with my fellow compatriots and set to shooting as many Americans as I could find.

Frankly, I think the whole thing is getting a bit out of hand. Tourists are being blown up and shot all over the world. And a lot of innocent people are being killed in the crossfire. The Americans call that “friendly fire”!! What a tacky expression. Any bullet that kills me is not particularly friendly in my opinion.

In fact, you Americans have been so enthusiastic about the whole business, that you have run out of bullets. You have actually started paint-balling tourists, which quite frankly is not playing the game.  At least we still have warehouses  full, so you can be guaranteed a warm and genuine lead welcome in Ireland.

It seems the only safe place for tourists now is Cuba. They always wanted to be a big tourist destination, and now they have their wish. But apparently the American Supreme Court is trying to stop that.

There used to be another tourist camp at a place called Abu Ghraib. That was closed too due to an over enthusiastic hostess called Lindy England.

abughraib.jpg
Lindy entertaining a tourist

So if you want the killing to stop, just ask Pea-Brain Bush to give the word. He started it. He can stop it.

Mind you, I will still retain our old rural tradition and pop off the odd one.

Just for sport.

And I won’t be using paint.

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