19 March 2013
Story #645
R. Linda:
I have received a lot of private correspondence related to the story of the two Charlies (see my blog post of 17 March 2013, The Two Charlies Go To Belfast), and I got to thinking about me trip not that long ago and an event that was somewhat crazy and a wee bit similar.
As you know, after dinner (at whatever castle we were staying at night), I would either slip away to the village or the downstairs bar for a few nightcaps. But there was one particular day we had travelled to County Mayo. Our driver had, for one last time, tried his damn best to convert us to be better Catholics (those of us who were), convert the lone Baptist to give that nonsense up for the true religion of Rome, and for the two Lebanese Christians to let go the Greek influence and get a more Vatican approach to the old belief system. This dogma was exhaustively tiring, and by the time we arrived at our castle for the night, I, for one, was done with religious talk, as was me wife. But as things would have it, at dinner, the parents, hers and me own, were not finished with it, and the discussion went on.
Several times, I muttered under me breath that I needed a stiff drink. Me wife overheard and agreed that it sounded like a novel idea. It was novel because she had no idea of me slipping out the entire trip once she was asleep for a round or two or three in whatever village was nearby.
We managed to disengage ourselves from the ongoing conversation, which had moved on into the lounge after dinner. We feigned sleep and convinced the other four we were off to bed. But that's not where we went. Being entirely unfamiliar with that part of Ireland, we stopped at the concierge and asked where there was a local watering hole we could imbibe at.
He was most helpful and told us of one not far, with "plenty of local flavour," we could take one of the golf carts, "joost sign dis form and dey be rioght out front dere." And so we did; we had the directions, and off we went, laughing at our deviousness.
We had no trouble finding the place. It was the only pub on a very short village street. We left the cart and walked inside thinking about local Irish music, a few townsmen with fiddle, tin whistle, bodhran, that sort of thing. Still, as we walked in, we knew instantly we were the only tourists there; everyone was dressed like they had earned a pint after a good day's "harvest", as Tonya put it. They stopped their chat, and all eyes were upon us as we forced feeble smiles and moved further inside, to the sound of crickets chirping. I tell ya!
There was a footy game on the telly, and it was Manchester U and Liverpool, and oh my, but the quips and barbs being traded. Luckily for Tonya, she has a hard time with the Mayo accent. She thinks it be very thick Irish and can't understand a word. Well, I know a thing or two about footy. I used to be a Liverpool fan, so I got up there and joined in a bit, thinking they were all Liverpool fans, but found out quickly the entire pub but meself were cheering on Man U. Man U was me team now, so I had to switch gears and that was embarrassing as I realised it, but too late. They were all staring at yours truly, so I began to bring me enthusiasm down a few notches at a time until I was saying nothing.
I strolled the wife over to a table and sat her down as about six of the patrons also strolled over with us and stood around. I do know what the two Charlies were experiencing in Belfast. I had made it clear I was a Liverpool fan, and they made it clear they were for Man U and that the twain would never meet. It was uncomfortable for about a minute until someone asked where I was from. I told them, and they were like, "Ach! A nortern mun." I quickly told them me wife was from America, hoping they would find that more palatable. They did. They were all about her, and she was having a hell of a time with their accents because those accents had sprinkled in a good deal of Gaelic, and I was the instant interpreter for her and then for them because they didn't understand a word of American English. I tell ya, it was hairy and busy all at the same time because I was not versed in but a few words of the Gaelic language.
I finally got an order in for us, and the bunch around us had swelled in ranks to at least fifteen, and someone had decided we were on our honeymoon. They called for a round of Guinness to celebrate our love and life together as they were all speaking at once, and there was no way to correct them. Of course, Tonya was all in wonder of what the good news was that everyone was so suddenly animated over. Oi!
The Guinness was poured and handed out like an assembly line. There was no waiting for the foam to settle, no, none of that; the drinking was to start in earnest, so there was no time. They all toasted and cheered us on. Tonya's eyes were big, and she had an amused expression on her face. At all this cheerful attention, she had no clue what it was about.
"A round on the hoose!" Someone shouted at me that I should get up and toast me lady, and I did with some sappy sentence. We drank, and then another round was ordered, and I was told to make a better toast to Tonya ("make yer Irishness proud lad"), so I made up another sappy toast, and we drank again, and we must have done this for 15 rounds. When number 16 came up, I was sitting, not standing. Tonya was all glassy-eyed from the Guinness and trying to hold down, belching a few Guinness burps.
"Git on oop 'ere fair ladee and gee a toast ta yer hoosband, itz yer foogin' honeymoon, sos make da moost of it."
Some of the words Tonya caught, and she got the idea, but being too buzzed to care, they helped her up. She held her jar up with the help of two men who held the bottom so it stayed in the air, and she slurred a bunch of words. I can't tell you what they were, but they cheered even louder when she was done, and we all drank toast number 22!
But we weren't done. They decided Tonya should toast me in Gaelic; yes, they did. And while she stumbled with the words, they seemed satisfied she had got the toast, so helping her up on top of the bar (oi, oi, oi!), she swayed and said, "I hold Gabriel Aloysius O'Sullivan responsible for me giving birth to ponies," or some such craziness. "Whadda I say?" She would ask, and they'd lie like dogs that she said, "I love Gabriel Aloysius O'Sullivan and only him!" Each toast in Gaelic got more and more ridiculous. And they enjoyed the heck out of this charade.
As it turned out, the footy game was forgotten because we were the game. I tell ya, by the time the fun started winding down, we had gone from Guinness to Paddy's Whiskey to calling shots to where I was shocked me wife was all about drinking 25 Irishmen under the table. I told her to stop because I was so wasted I didn't think I could find the golf cart, let alone the castle, and me carrying her on me back, well it was going to be a long, hard slog back. But she continued until she nearly passed out. Not a pretty sight, either of us, but the crowd had made us honourary regulars of Bannigan's Pub.
Of course, when I dragged the wife outside, the golf cart was gone. I did not find out where it went until the next day. It seems I forgot to put the brake on, and it had taken itself to the end of the block, where I did not think to look. Oi!
I remember half-carrying, half-dragging Tonya, and then us both falling down in laughter and unable to get up.
"They'll find us here in the morning still trashed," she would say, laughing hysterically. That wasn't funny, but her laughter was, and so the two of us (if anyone was looking) would have thought us morons of the highest degree. I dunno.
Somehow, we made it back to the castle. The concierge was the only one up when I dragged the unconscious wife in with me. I tried, but I couldn't get words to form a sentence. I drew a diagram of a sort where the golf cart was last seen, but he had no clue what I was trying to tell him. Though he did ask me for the keys, which I gave him. I can only think he thought the cart was out front, but well, I tried, I really did, but well . . .
So, besides losing the golf cart the next morning, I was sporting a hangover to rival all hangovers and the piece de resistance -- one huge pub bill. Yup. Not to mention the strange looks from both sets of parents, wondering how one glass of wine at dinner could affect the two of us so adversely. Oh yeah, fun.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I have received a lot of private correspondence related to the story of the two Charlies (see my blog post of 17 March 2013, The Two Charlies Go To Belfast), and I got to thinking about me trip not that long ago and an event that was somewhat crazy and a wee bit similar.
As you know, after dinner (at whatever castle we were staying at night), I would either slip away to the village or the downstairs bar for a few nightcaps. But there was one particular day we had travelled to County Mayo. Our driver had, for one last time, tried his damn best to convert us to be better Catholics (those of us who were), convert the lone Baptist to give that nonsense up for the true religion of Rome, and for the two Lebanese Christians to let go the Greek influence and get a more Vatican approach to the old belief system. This dogma was exhaustively tiring, and by the time we arrived at our castle for the night, I, for one, was done with religious talk, as was me wife. But as things would have it, at dinner, the parents, hers and me own, were not finished with it, and the discussion went on.
Several times, I muttered under me breath that I needed a stiff drink. Me wife overheard and agreed that it sounded like a novel idea. It was novel because she had no idea of me slipping out the entire trip once she was asleep for a round or two or three in whatever village was nearby.
We managed to disengage ourselves from the ongoing conversation, which had moved on into the lounge after dinner. We feigned sleep and convinced the other four we were off to bed. But that's not where we went. Being entirely unfamiliar with that part of Ireland, we stopped at the concierge and asked where there was a local watering hole we could imbibe at.
He was most helpful and told us of one not far, with "plenty of local flavour," we could take one of the golf carts, "joost sign dis form and dey be rioght out front dere." And so we did; we had the directions, and off we went, laughing at our deviousness.
We had no trouble finding the place. It was the only pub on a very short village street. We left the cart and walked inside thinking about local Irish music, a few townsmen with fiddle, tin whistle, bodhran, that sort of thing. Still, as we walked in, we knew instantly we were the only tourists there; everyone was dressed like they had earned a pint after a good day's "harvest", as Tonya put it. They stopped their chat, and all eyes were upon us as we forced feeble smiles and moved further inside, to the sound of crickets chirping. I tell ya!
There was a footy game on the telly, and it was Manchester U and Liverpool, and oh my, but the quips and barbs being traded. Luckily for Tonya, she has a hard time with the Mayo accent. She thinks it be very thick Irish and can't understand a word. Well, I know a thing or two about footy. I used to be a Liverpool fan, so I got up there and joined in a bit, thinking they were all Liverpool fans, but found out quickly the entire pub but meself were cheering on Man U. Man U was me team now, so I had to switch gears and that was embarrassing as I realised it, but too late. They were all staring at yours truly, so I began to bring me enthusiasm down a few notches at a time until I was saying nothing.
I strolled the wife over to a table and sat her down as about six of the patrons also strolled over with us and stood around. I do know what the two Charlies were experiencing in Belfast. I had made it clear I was a Liverpool fan, and they made it clear they were for Man U and that the twain would never meet. It was uncomfortable for about a minute until someone asked where I was from. I told them, and they were like, "Ach! A nortern mun." I quickly told them me wife was from America, hoping they would find that more palatable. They did. They were all about her, and she was having a hell of a time with their accents because those accents had sprinkled in a good deal of Gaelic, and I was the instant interpreter for her and then for them because they didn't understand a word of American English. I tell ya, it was hairy and busy all at the same time because I was not versed in but a few words of the Gaelic language.
I finally got an order in for us, and the bunch around us had swelled in ranks to at least fifteen, and someone had decided we were on our honeymoon. They called for a round of Guinness to celebrate our love and life together as they were all speaking at once, and there was no way to correct them. Of course, Tonya was all in wonder of what the good news was that everyone was so suddenly animated over. Oi!
The Guinness was poured and handed out like an assembly line. There was no waiting for the foam to settle, no, none of that; the drinking was to start in earnest, so there was no time. They all toasted and cheered us on. Tonya's eyes were big, and she had an amused expression on her face. At all this cheerful attention, she had no clue what it was about.
"A round on the hoose!" Someone shouted at me that I should get up and toast me lady, and I did with some sappy sentence. We drank, and then another round was ordered, and I was told to make a better toast to Tonya ("make yer Irishness proud lad"), so I made up another sappy toast, and we drank again, and we must have done this for 15 rounds. When number 16 came up, I was sitting, not standing. Tonya was all glassy-eyed from the Guinness and trying to hold down, belching a few Guinness burps.
"Git on oop 'ere fair ladee and gee a toast ta yer hoosband, itz yer foogin' honeymoon, sos make da moost of it."
Some of the words Tonya caught, and she got the idea, but being too buzzed to care, they helped her up. She held her jar up with the help of two men who held the bottom so it stayed in the air, and she slurred a bunch of words. I can't tell you what they were, but they cheered even louder when she was done, and we all drank toast number 22!
But we weren't done. They decided Tonya should toast me in Gaelic; yes, they did. And while she stumbled with the words, they seemed satisfied she had got the toast, so helping her up on top of the bar (oi, oi, oi!), she swayed and said, "I hold Gabriel Aloysius O'Sullivan responsible for me giving birth to ponies," or some such craziness. "Whadda I say?" She would ask, and they'd lie like dogs that she said, "I love Gabriel Aloysius O'Sullivan and only him!" Each toast in Gaelic got more and more ridiculous. And they enjoyed the heck out of this charade.
As it turned out, the footy game was forgotten because we were the game. I tell ya, by the time the fun started winding down, we had gone from Guinness to Paddy's Whiskey to calling shots to where I was shocked me wife was all about drinking 25 Irishmen under the table. I told her to stop because I was so wasted I didn't think I could find the golf cart, let alone the castle, and me carrying her on me back, well it was going to be a long, hard slog back. But she continued until she nearly passed out. Not a pretty sight, either of us, but the crowd had made us honourary regulars of Bannigan's Pub.
Of course, when I dragged the wife outside, the golf cart was gone. I did not find out where it went until the next day. It seems I forgot to put the brake on, and it had taken itself to the end of the block, where I did not think to look. Oi!
I remember half-carrying, half-dragging Tonya, and then us both falling down in laughter and unable to get up.
"They'll find us here in the morning still trashed," she would say, laughing hysterically. That wasn't funny, but her laughter was, and so the two of us (if anyone was looking) would have thought us morons of the highest degree. I dunno.
Somehow, we made it back to the castle. The concierge was the only one up when I dragged the unconscious wife in with me. I tried, but I couldn't get words to form a sentence. I drew a diagram of a sort where the golf cart was last seen, but he had no clue what I was trying to tell him. Though he did ask me for the keys, which I gave him. I can only think he thought the cart was out front, but well, I tried, I really did, but well . . .
So, besides losing the golf cart the next morning, I was sporting a hangover to rival all hangovers and the piece de resistance -- one huge pub bill. Yup. Not to mention the strange looks from both sets of parents, wondering how one glass of wine at dinner could affect the two of us so adversely. Oh yeah, fun.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
