Me Head Hurts Every Time I Hear The Word Scrumpy!

12 June 2022

Story #1072

R. Linda:

After an evening of drinking scrumpy, I find me head seems not screwed on tight this morning. I learnt me lesson, never stay up late having what YOU think is an intelligent discussion when your brain be floating around your head like a bumper car. 

A big surprise to me was my infamous cousin Sean decided to take a holiday in America. Why he couldn't stay in scenic Ireland, I have notta clue. I also have no clue why he chose to darken me doorstep when the Dragon Lady had already done that. No warning, no nothing, just Sean standing on me threshold holding a bottle of Scrumpy at 9 at night, looking every inch a snollygoster or worse, a dishonest brush salesman.

Mam was behind me and, of course, pushed meself out of the way and invited the Irish miscreant inside me sanctuary before I could get a word out. She was the only one who seemed happy to see him, except for my kiddos, who think he is "fun," the eldest being a big fan. Sean be not exactly the model you want your boyos to take after, as you well know. 

What to do? Well, I didn't have any control over the situation; Mam was plainly in charge, and to be honest with you, I was rather she was because Sean and I would come to blows in short order. I was still seething about the camper left in me yard and the memories of all the trouble we had when he lived in it outside the abode. 

He was ushered in with a quick conversation of his plans given to Mam as he was shown from the doorway to the living room. He would be staying with us for a week or two, or three, or maybe four! As you can imagine, this did not sit well with me. One look at Tonya's saucer eyes made me realise she was not a happy camper. Of course, the kiddos were thrilled beyond thrilled. The only one missing out on this extra added household attraction was the Dragon, who had gone off to bed. Lucky her!

"Ah, now Gabe," said Sean, thrusting out a bottle at yours truly's face, "lookiehere wot I brung ya." And he held out the bottle of Scrumpy. 

"How nice," Tonya muttered and then, in a low voice, asked me what was in the bottle. 

I whispered back; it was hard cider. She nodded, looking amused, while I wondered how he got it through customs.

"Glasses there, Gabe," Sean said, all smiles still holding up the bottle. 

Tonya got enough for three since Mam declined (the wise woman she is). Tonya took one sip, crossed her eyes, and started choking, so that did it for her. 

"Burble it down the toilet!" Sean instructed her, and I immediately told her not to or we'd have sewage problems.

"That stuff will eat the containment vessel; go straight through the cement," I warned her. She went choking to the kitchen for a glass of water and dumped her glass in the trash.

"Watch that don't eat the trash bag," Mam warned as Tonya looked back at us, unsure what to do. 

"Holding his glass high and waving it at me head, he said, "Bring the crime to book!" and down the hatch it went. I did the same, and I will say it was not smooth going down; it had a kick, but the kind that says, 'Have some more, and you'll get used to it." 

I will say that for Scrumpy, it wasn't a bad lot once you got used to it. He refilled our glasses and lifted his again, "Scrumping forever!" Down the hatch, he poured out some more. "Scrumping scrimps!" Down the hatch again and refill. 

Mam, Tonya, and the kiddos left us for bed (after all, it was after 10 at night by then). My body felt mellow and warm as the liquor flowed down me throat. My head, on the other hand, felt like it was a million miles away. 

"Clarely, we will end oop in da truema unit we keep dis oop." Said he with a laugh.

"Clarely," I replied, me Irish accent coming back with full force, "feeling' no pin 'ere." 

"Ye seemed cheengged." He said, somehow being sober enough to notice me hostility dissipated with each chug of the scrumpy. 

"Wheel, ye'ave a jar a scrumpy thots oop ta scrotch an tings cheenge," I said, swirling the liquid in me glass mindlessly.

"Dots goud cause I taught ya'd be ongery dot I shooed oop unannounced. Taught mabee ye woud be in a nohsty mood abut wot hoppined when I left." 

"Oh ya taught I'd trow it in yer teeth about the camper, did ya?"

"I did! Soon as I had me fout upon da treshold." He said, refilling me glass.

I was feeling me cups I was, but I wasn't that far gone. The grey cells were still working. 

"Wots yer geem?" I asked him.

He paused like he was insulted, and I said no game.

"We need work out abut me caravan." He mumbled into his glass. 

Ah ha! That was it. I had sold the camper to get it out of me yard, and he wanted money. Of course! I had communicated with him about that damn eyesore and told him it was going to be sold because he wasn't coming back, and damn if I was storing that big eyesore. I had no place for it, couldn't use it, and wanted it gone. He had said to do what I would; the title was in it, and we could transfer electronically, and that was that. Mam, Tonya, and I cleaned it out (and that was a job, think bachelor, and that says it all). I sold it three weeks later for what it was worth, which wasn't much. I sent him the money, all except 20%, which I gave to Mam and Ton for doing the awful grunt work of cleaning the thing. So here he was, wanting the 20%! I had told him what a mess the thing was and how it took two freaking weeks to clean it so it was in proper condition to be sold. I even fixed the door that wouldn't close all the way at me own expense. 

"Me caravan wuz in good shape." He had the nerve to say to me.

"I fixed da dore ya broke at me own cost." I reminded him. "Da ting wuz NOT in good nick Sean an' ye knoo it. An' so ancient it wuz not top of da range either." I reminded him. 

"Ye got birds in da attic dere, Gabe." He said morosely. 

"Oh me, good god," I said, seeing where we were going. "So why be dis so impartin' to ye now aftah all dis tyme, wot trooble ye in ya need money?" He said nothing. "Crack on den," I said, irritated.

"I feel like ye jockeyed me along dere Gabe."

"How so?" I asked.

"Ya were jeloose of me wit yer kiddos." He had the nerve to say. "I taught besides bloud; we were big friends."

"Sean, ye are oversteppin' yer mark now," I said. "It will take sum doin' fur ye ta git back in me good book. Where arr ya man'ers? 'Er, ye be satin' in me hoose and carrin' on."

He looked dopey at that admonition, like he knew better. He swirled his glass of Scrumpy and then, seeing there was very little in it, upended the bottle into the glass, getting maybe a sip out of it. Yes, we drank the entire bottle between us. He held the bottle up in apology. He could not offer me more, which was fine by me. He got up, held his glass on high in toast to me, and drank it down. It must have hit him like a ton of bricks because suddenly, he crumpled into the chair, and his glass went rolling over the floor. I sat there thinking I needed to get the glass (which I did and banged it on the coffee table) and then check on Sean. I knew he hadn't hurt himself; he had too much of the scrumpy.  I sat there staring at him for a few minutes, then I sighed, put me own glass on the coffee table, and muttered to no one in particular, "I guess thot's it, den."

I was angry; I left him to snore it off, which he was and went off to me bed. I had decided to give him the money he thought he was owed in the morning and put him on his way. I was done, finished. I didn't sleep well until the wee hours when I finally succumbed to exhaustive thoughts and the effects of the scrumpy.  I was awakened by Tonya at about 8 a.m. to the question of where Sean was at. I got up, and sure enough, he wasn't in the abode. I turned on me phone to find a text from the drinker of Scrumpy. It said: "Sorry, I don't know what got into me. I would be too embarrassed to face yourself, so I thought I would go."

Go? Go where? Well, I thought, at least he realised his mistake of how he went about his grievances. I got dressed, then went to the garage to run to Dunks for doughnuts. I got to the drive-thru and ordered a dozen doughnuts and a large coffee for me scrumpy banging head when a voice piped up in the backseat requesting, "Make that two large coffees." I nearly jumped out of me skin. He had somehow crawled his way to the garage and made himself comfortable on the floor of me car in the back and, in a drunken stupor, fallen asleep until the disembodied voice at Dunks and the smell of coffee (yes, you could smell it outside the shop) had shaken his brain awake. 

Oi! Here, I thought I had gotten rid of him for good,  but no, here, he was alive and sort of well with me! I did shift around and looked at him in surprised shock. I did have the wherewithal to tell the voice that two large coffees were in order, and she told me to pull up. When I was away from the microphone, I started shouting at his arse. He was holding his head, telling me to tone it down. I was hurting what was left of his scrumpy brain. I was back to square one, damn it!

This was just great; not only do I have a month of Dragon to look forward to, but now I have me lamebrain cousin. All I need would be for the Weasil to show up, and then I'd be in absolute hell. 

I don't want to see a glass of this ever again

Gabe

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