09 August 2014
Story #748
R. Linda:
Today takes the cake and beats all. Because the day is nice here, we decided to have an early lunch outside. I never thought we'd have a short invasion of sorts, but we did. I never thought me nicely planned lunch would go awry, but something nice did come out of it.
We have this old glass-top table, and Tonya and Mam set it all up nicely with home-brewed iced tea and fresh mint from our garden, lovely old plates me Mam brought over from Ireland (Belleek), and crisp lavender napkins she made into what looked like tulips.
Now, I was invited for lunch by an old friend of mine who lives in Harrisville, N.H., a very picturesque spot. He and I worked together when I first came to work in Boston, and so our relationship has lasted. He's an older gent (Mam's age—and no, don't get the matchmaking thing going), and I thought she'd like to have a conversation (for a change) with someone closer in age than me three boyos, Tonya, and meself.
She was all fine about this, and like you, she didn't want any "o' dat matchmakin' goin' on." My friend Lawrence arrived, and he was dressed in all creamy white. He had on a fine pair of trousers that matched the vest (with gold chain and watch) against the white and narrow blue pinstripes in his shirt, rolled up mid-forearm. To top it off, he had a straw Panama hat that made him look (as Tonya said) like Big Daddy. His ruddy face was filled with smiles, his blue eyes twinkled, and retirement had done him a good turn. He be a very happy man in that he now has the time to write that great American novel he's talked about for so long.
Mam went shy at such a "distinguished gentleman," but he soon pulled her out of her shell, partly thanks to our uninvited guest.
We had a fabulous lunch of young cress-topped Angus burgers with a white mushroom sauce, homemade crisps, a Greek salad (to die for), and for dessert, an assortment of our own wild berries over homemade Irish lady's fingers, crowned with whipped cream. To top it off, coffee and brandy. Yes, I was in hog heaven.
Lawrence and I walked off lunch a bit while the ladies cleaned up. We had O'Hare with us because he was convinced my white-haired friend was really Santa Claus on holiday. Oi! As we returned, we stopped to chat, and I noticed Mam in me hammock with Guido acting persistently about something.
"Whatcha doin'?" Guido asked Mam.
"Readin' a boook, why?"
"Wotz a boook?" He asked, looking perplexed and scratching his head.
"Dis," she said, holding it up for him to see. "Doncha read boooks?"
"Nope, I read dis," he said, holding up his iPad.
She looked as the words scurried across the screen, and a voice read them out. Then, she went to the next "page," where the same thing happened, screen after screen.
"Ooh," she sighed, getting it.
Not to be outdone on the attention bit, O'Hare strolled up.
"What's up?" He asked her.
"Wot's the matter?" she asked, concern taking over her features. She swung her legs from the hammock in case she was needed elsewhere.
It was his turn to look perplexed because he did not know that in Ireland, asking "what's up" means "what's wrong?" Oi, oi, oi.
Before things got out of hand, we walked over and I thought to take the two boyos inside and let Lawrence and Mam chat. And no, I was not matchmaking. The boyos took off without me, so I pulled up a chair for Lawrence by the hammock, and Mam asked me to join them, so that would end any matchmaking which never entered me mind. I got a chair and then went back to the table to get us all glasses of iced tea when up strolled me drunken neighbour, who isn't the brightest bulb in the box. I could do nothing as he took it upon himself to join us before I could invite him. He had got a chair and raked it over the lawn to where Mam and Lawrence were chatting nicely. The chat suddenly turned from low-key to the loud voice of the uninvited butting in. I could hear the chat from where I was, and it went something like this:
"So, YOU are Irish, are you? Where in England are you from exactly?" Me neighbour more like confronted Mam with THAT question.
Mam sat there blinking. She was incapable of speech at this point, and I would guess that the look on her face indicated that she was pretty insulted.
"I believe you mean where in Ireland is she from?" Lawrence said with a good-natured tone to not humiliate a man who was so good at doing that all on his own.
"OH! Is it Ireland?" Dumbarse asked surprised. "I didn't know being Irish meant you were from Ireland, I thought it meant England."
Oh my God! I handed out the iced teas and sat down, struggling with how to get rid of him posthaste. I was also wondering if a lesson on Northern Ireland, Ireland, and Great Britain was worth a try, but I decided not to attempt to educate a fool.
"Someone told me Piers Morgan is Irish. Is that so?" He asked just to say something. "You must be missing him over there."
"Ooh no, we don't want him back. You can keep him," she said, looking deep in thought but probably thinking the same thing I was.
"Oh, but I thought he was going back there." He said, looking at his tea. He suddenly turned to me and asked if I could put some rum in his drink. I declined by saying I had no alcohol of any kind in me house. Ok, I lied, but really?
"You don't want him back? How are you going to keep him out?" The foolish twit asked her.
"Well, we do have the RAF to shoot him out of the sky should he attempt a return. Wot else are they good fer?" She said, looking down at her shoes sheepishly.
"Oh, I thought . . . Well, you could close the borders?" He suggested scuffing his soles in the dirt, kicking it up enough that Lawrence reached down to brush the dust off his creamy trouser leg.
"We tried dat wit barricades and sooch, but he still manages to make it in," she said, starting to squirm.
I sat there doing all I could not to burst out laughing.
"I suppose you can stop boats and planes coming in and make sure he doesn't set foot on the old sod."
I was so close to interjecting that we weren't really having this conversation when Lawrence piped up.
"Maybe the penal colony will take 'em." He surmised.
"Penal colony?" Stupid asked all interested, looking Lawrence up and down to size him up.
"Aye, wot be it called . . . oh yah, Australia," Mam interjected with a bright smile at Lawrence.
"OH!" Stupid said, stunned.
"I suppose . . . " Lawrence mused to Mam, feeling Stupid didn't like the idea, "Maybe the decent thing to do would be to give him to Canada."
"Oh, dey'd trade for Bieber, and den wot? I dun't knoo which be worse." She answered, shaking her head as Stupid looked from one to the other.
"Well, they are the same kind of troublemaker, so I say that Piers should be shipped to Canada. But as you say, they might send us Bieber, so maybe we should drop Piers in North Korea."
Stupid looked at Lawrence to see if he was serious, Lawrence trying not to chuckle.
"Well, like I say," Mam interjected all serious, "send Piers beyond da Wall." And she nodded as Lawrence nodded back, knowing fully what she meant.
Oh, these two could be dangerous together, I thought. It wasn't much later that Stupid left, being none the wiser about who Jon Snow was or where exactly the Wall was located. China, he thought, but wasn't sure. He was not getting any alcohol or any gossip, nor any wiser, so off he went. I can't say we were sad to see him go, but he helped forge a new friendship between two very nice souls.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Today takes the cake and beats all. Because the day is nice here, we decided to have an early lunch outside. I never thought we'd have a short invasion of sorts, but we did. I never thought me nicely planned lunch would go awry, but something nice did come out of it.
We have this old glass-top table, and Tonya and Mam set it all up nicely with home-brewed iced tea and fresh mint from our garden, lovely old plates me Mam brought over from Ireland (Belleek), and crisp lavender napkins she made into what looked like tulips.
Now, I was invited for lunch by an old friend of mine who lives in Harrisville, N.H., a very picturesque spot. He and I worked together when I first came to work in Boston, and so our relationship has lasted. He's an older gent (Mam's age—and no, don't get the matchmaking thing going), and I thought she'd like to have a conversation (for a change) with someone closer in age than me three boyos, Tonya, and meself.
She was all fine about this, and like you, she didn't want any "o' dat matchmakin' goin' on." My friend Lawrence arrived, and he was dressed in all creamy white. He had on a fine pair of trousers that matched the vest (with gold chain and watch) against the white and narrow blue pinstripes in his shirt, rolled up mid-forearm. To top it off, he had a straw Panama hat that made him look (as Tonya said) like Big Daddy. His ruddy face was filled with smiles, his blue eyes twinkled, and retirement had done him a good turn. He be a very happy man in that he now has the time to write that great American novel he's talked about for so long.
Mam went shy at such a "distinguished gentleman," but he soon pulled her out of her shell, partly thanks to our uninvited guest.
We had a fabulous lunch of young cress-topped Angus burgers with a white mushroom sauce, homemade crisps, a Greek salad (to die for), and for dessert, an assortment of our own wild berries over homemade Irish lady's fingers, crowned with whipped cream. To top it off, coffee and brandy. Yes, I was in hog heaven.
Lawrence and I walked off lunch a bit while the ladies cleaned up. We had O'Hare with us because he was convinced my white-haired friend was really Santa Claus on holiday. Oi! As we returned, we stopped to chat, and I noticed Mam in me hammock with Guido acting persistently about something.
"Whatcha doin'?" Guido asked Mam.
"Readin' a boook, why?"
"Wotz a boook?" He asked, looking perplexed and scratching his head.
"Dis," she said, holding it up for him to see. "Doncha read boooks?"
"Nope, I read dis," he said, holding up his iPad.
She looked as the words scurried across the screen, and a voice read them out. Then, she went to the next "page," where the same thing happened, screen after screen.
"Ooh," she sighed, getting it.
Not to be outdone on the attention bit, O'Hare strolled up.
"What's up?" He asked her.
"Wot's the matter?" she asked, concern taking over her features. She swung her legs from the hammock in case she was needed elsewhere.
It was his turn to look perplexed because he did not know that in Ireland, asking "what's up" means "what's wrong?" Oi, oi, oi.
Before things got out of hand, we walked over and I thought to take the two boyos inside and let Lawrence and Mam chat. And no, I was not matchmaking. The boyos took off without me, so I pulled up a chair for Lawrence by the hammock, and Mam asked me to join them, so that would end any matchmaking which never entered me mind. I got a chair and then went back to the table to get us all glasses of iced tea when up strolled me drunken neighbour, who isn't the brightest bulb in the box. I could do nothing as he took it upon himself to join us before I could invite him. He had got a chair and raked it over the lawn to where Mam and Lawrence were chatting nicely. The chat suddenly turned from low-key to the loud voice of the uninvited butting in. I could hear the chat from where I was, and it went something like this:
"So, YOU are Irish, are you? Where in England are you from exactly?" Me neighbour more like confronted Mam with THAT question.
Mam sat there blinking. She was incapable of speech at this point, and I would guess that the look on her face indicated that she was pretty insulted.
"I believe you mean where in Ireland is she from?" Lawrence said with a good-natured tone to not humiliate a man who was so good at doing that all on his own.
"OH! Is it Ireland?" Dumbarse asked surprised. "I didn't know being Irish meant you were from Ireland, I thought it meant England."
Oh my God! I handed out the iced teas and sat down, struggling with how to get rid of him posthaste. I was also wondering if a lesson on Northern Ireland, Ireland, and Great Britain was worth a try, but I decided not to attempt to educate a fool.
"Someone told me Piers Morgan is Irish. Is that so?" He asked just to say something. "You must be missing him over there."
"Ooh no, we don't want him back. You can keep him," she said, looking deep in thought but probably thinking the same thing I was.
"Oh, but I thought he was going back there." He said, looking at his tea. He suddenly turned to me and asked if I could put some rum in his drink. I declined by saying I had no alcohol of any kind in me house. Ok, I lied, but really?
"You don't want him back? How are you going to keep him out?" The foolish twit asked her.
"Well, we do have the RAF to shoot him out of the sky should he attempt a return. Wot else are they good fer?" She said, looking down at her shoes sheepishly.
"Oh, I thought . . . Well, you could close the borders?" He suggested scuffing his soles in the dirt, kicking it up enough that Lawrence reached down to brush the dust off his creamy trouser leg.
"We tried dat wit barricades and sooch, but he still manages to make it in," she said, starting to squirm.
I sat there doing all I could not to burst out laughing.
"I suppose you can stop boats and planes coming in and make sure he doesn't set foot on the old sod."
I was so close to interjecting that we weren't really having this conversation when Lawrence piped up.
"Maybe the penal colony will take 'em." He surmised.
"Penal colony?" Stupid asked all interested, looking Lawrence up and down to size him up.
"Aye, wot be it called . . . oh yah, Australia," Mam interjected with a bright smile at Lawrence.
"OH!" Stupid said, stunned.
"I suppose . . . " Lawrence mused to Mam, feeling Stupid didn't like the idea, "Maybe the decent thing to do would be to give him to Canada."
"Oh, dey'd trade for Bieber, and den wot? I dun't knoo which be worse." She answered, shaking her head as Stupid looked from one to the other.
"Well, they are the same kind of troublemaker, so I say that Piers should be shipped to Canada. But as you say, they might send us Bieber, so maybe we should drop Piers in North Korea."
Stupid looked at Lawrence to see if he was serious, Lawrence trying not to chuckle.
"Well, like I say," Mam interjected all serious, "send Piers beyond da Wall." And she nodded as Lawrence nodded back, knowing fully what she meant.
Oh, these two could be dangerous together, I thought. It wasn't much later that Stupid left, being none the wiser about who Jon Snow was or where exactly the Wall was located. China, he thought, but wasn't sure. He was not getting any alcohol or any gossip, nor any wiser, so off he went. I can't say we were sad to see him go, but he helped forge a new friendship between two very nice souls.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved