21 March 2011
378
R. Linda:
Well, I be not alone in the post-hangover department from St. Paddy's Day. Such good news to know that everyone who was late getting back from the annual St. P's lunch at the pub had a hell of a weekend. There was talk the corned beef was bad. Uh-huh, I do have to say there may be some truth in that. I was feeling much better meself, and it was quite the thing watching me old lunch-mates stagger in as if they had just come from the pub, not had a weekend and a day to recover their wits.
It did indeed remind me of another such time years ago in Ireland. I was in Dublin working. St. Pats came, and I will say they do it proudly. But nothing like the crazy lunch that was had last Thursday. Anyway, I was thinking back to that day in Dublin, being in the office when a few of the people I had lunched with came staggering in, which made me think they'd been at the drink all of the weekend and after the DAY. And if truth be known, some had taken on (as I did) the hair of the old dog. Yup.
Evan McGuire sat at his desk, staring at the phone that wouldn't stop ringing because he wasn't picking it up. "Da las ting I want right now be to talk to someone." But the ringing wasn't what he wanted either; you could tell his noggin was pounding, but he refused to pick it up. When it stopped, I asked him if he was still feeling the effects of our lunch the week before because we had two drinks with our food, not enough to make one feel it. He turned to me and said, "No, whiskey when ye're under da weather make ye well, as me ol'won would say. But whiskey when you're well kin make ya sicker n' a dog. I have found dat out the hard way."
Shortly after, Kevin Connolly waltzed on in. Well, hardly waltzed, lurched would be more the description. He sat heavily in his chair, and Kev was not a thin man but a heavy, beefy type with a naturally red face that offset his red hair to make him look like he was on fire from the shoulders up. Yes, it did. He looked at the two of us and, with watery faded blue eyes and a sniff, said, "Drink be a curse it be! I took a shot at me landlord. I did and missed! Wanker had the garda on me, and I spent a forbidding two days in the goal!"
Oh my. And, it looked to Evan and meself that old Kev drowned his sorrows once he got out. We had no time to ask more about it when little Erin O'Shea came tripping in. Yes, she did, literally. Not exactly light on her feet, she nearly fell into her chair before catching it and went careening into a file cabinet. Which would have been laughable if the noise she made when she hit didn't set both Evan and Kev's throbbing heads off to near alcoholic explosion.
"Erin ye ok?" I asked, a wee bit concerned and amused at such a little thing, still feeling the effects.
"Ay. Know dis you tree, before ye call for one fur da road be sure you know da road. I stopped at O'Hanlan's on me way home Tursday an' had a few more beers wit some acquaintances. It bein St. Pats Day and all. By the time I got oudda dere I couldn't remember which direction I lived in. I got in me motor and headed out and found meself in Shannon. I don't know how I got dere, but it was a long drive back, I kin tell ya dat! All I had wit me was a bottle of Jameson, and bein' I had a dry mouth I sipped on it all da way back. I be feelin' it NOW."
OH MY GOD. Little Erin O'Shea, tiny thing drinking and driving? She knew better, but in her inebriated state, apparently, that went out the window. We told her how lucky she was she didn't kill someone or herself.
Well, that wasn't the end of it. Corin O'Reilly, our office clown, came bounding in, smile on his face looking all fresh and ready to work. We were stunned, but Corin has a hollow leg he does and can drink a donkey under the table. He stood at his desk looking at us with a grin on his leprechaun-ish face and pointed at himself, "I be ready to werk. A man needing a drink tinks of great schemes to get it, and dat be me!"
Oh happy, happy man. The other three wanted to kick him, I be sure. They all grumbled something unintelligible, and it struck me that we were all making points about the drink, maybe to convince ourselves the national past-time was perfectly fine to flaunt. So I piped up I did and said, "You've never seen a collection for a needy publican have ye?"
They thought about that, and a round of no's was uttered under breaths.
"Well," O'Reilly smiled, "If Holy Water was beer, I'd be at mass every morning!" He and I laughed. The rest held their heads.
"Wine drowns more men than water," I high-fived O'Reilly. The hungover three looked up with evil eyes at us, and the looks meant, shut yer gob. Well, after a few more of these wonderful old Irish sayings, Kevin raised out of his chair and shouted at us, "And the drunk will soon have daylight through the rafters!" And he held up a finger to emphasise the point. With that, he sat down, I looked at O'Reilly who snickered and shrugged. In a whisper, he said, "For shure dat be a new one on me." And he sat down as did I, our grins turned to pondering on our faces. I still haven't figured that one out to this day.
Updates:
I found in Dublin, while the imbibing was limited on St. Patrick's Day, the imbibing over the weekend was like a free-for-all.
An update on Kevin, he be doing time for shooting his landlord in the leg a month later. He wasn't too drunk at the time. Thus, he sort of hit his mark.
Evan has sworn off the hard stuff and now only drinks Shirley Temples. Seems he has liver problems, poor man.
You'll be happy to know Erin be in an AA programme to this day and hasn't touched a drop, but my oh my, the one you'd least expect it from to take a terrible chance. Sigh.
And O'Reilly, what can I say about that one? He was the heaviest drinker of all of them; well, he be senior editor for a large Dublin newspaper he be. Yup, I don't get it, but he did like his work, and drink never seemed to interfere, it only made him more apt to put his nose to the grindstone. Go figure.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Well, I be not alone in the post-hangover department from St. Paddy's Day. Such good news to know that everyone who was late getting back from the annual St. P's lunch at the pub had a hell of a weekend. There was talk the corned beef was bad. Uh-huh, I do have to say there may be some truth in that. I was feeling much better meself, and it was quite the thing watching me old lunch-mates stagger in as if they had just come from the pub, not had a weekend and a day to recover their wits.
It did indeed remind me of another such time years ago in Ireland. I was in Dublin working. St. Pats came, and I will say they do it proudly. But nothing like the crazy lunch that was had last Thursday. Anyway, I was thinking back to that day in Dublin, being in the office when a few of the people I had lunched with came staggering in, which made me think they'd been at the drink all of the weekend and after the DAY. And if truth be known, some had taken on (as I did) the hair of the old dog. Yup.
Evan McGuire sat at his desk, staring at the phone that wouldn't stop ringing because he wasn't picking it up. "Da las ting I want right now be to talk to someone." But the ringing wasn't what he wanted either; you could tell his noggin was pounding, but he refused to pick it up. When it stopped, I asked him if he was still feeling the effects of our lunch the week before because we had two drinks with our food, not enough to make one feel it. He turned to me and said, "No, whiskey when ye're under da weather make ye well, as me ol'won would say. But whiskey when you're well kin make ya sicker n' a dog. I have found dat out the hard way."
Shortly after, Kevin Connolly waltzed on in. Well, hardly waltzed, lurched would be more the description. He sat heavily in his chair, and Kev was not a thin man but a heavy, beefy type with a naturally red face that offset his red hair to make him look like he was on fire from the shoulders up. Yes, it did. He looked at the two of us and, with watery faded blue eyes and a sniff, said, "Drink be a curse it be! I took a shot at me landlord. I did and missed! Wanker had the garda on me, and I spent a forbidding two days in the goal!"
Oh my. And, it looked to Evan and meself that old Kev drowned his sorrows once he got out. We had no time to ask more about it when little Erin O'Shea came tripping in. Yes, she did, literally. Not exactly light on her feet, she nearly fell into her chair before catching it and went careening into a file cabinet. Which would have been laughable if the noise she made when she hit didn't set both Evan and Kev's throbbing heads off to near alcoholic explosion.
"Erin ye ok?" I asked, a wee bit concerned and amused at such a little thing, still feeling the effects.
"Ay. Know dis you tree, before ye call for one fur da road be sure you know da road. I stopped at O'Hanlan's on me way home Tursday an' had a few more beers wit some acquaintances. It bein St. Pats Day and all. By the time I got oudda dere I couldn't remember which direction I lived in. I got in me motor and headed out and found meself in Shannon. I don't know how I got dere, but it was a long drive back, I kin tell ya dat! All I had wit me was a bottle of Jameson, and bein' I had a dry mouth I sipped on it all da way back. I be feelin' it NOW."
OH MY GOD. Little Erin O'Shea, tiny thing drinking and driving? She knew better, but in her inebriated state, apparently, that went out the window. We told her how lucky she was she didn't kill someone or herself.
Well, that wasn't the end of it. Corin O'Reilly, our office clown, came bounding in, smile on his face looking all fresh and ready to work. We were stunned, but Corin has a hollow leg he does and can drink a donkey under the table. He stood at his desk looking at us with a grin on his leprechaun-ish face and pointed at himself, "I be ready to werk. A man needing a drink tinks of great schemes to get it, and dat be me!"
Oh happy, happy man. The other three wanted to kick him, I be sure. They all grumbled something unintelligible, and it struck me that we were all making points about the drink, maybe to convince ourselves the national past-time was perfectly fine to flaunt. So I piped up I did and said, "You've never seen a collection for a needy publican have ye?"
They thought about that, and a round of no's was uttered under breaths.
"Well," O'Reilly smiled, "If Holy Water was beer, I'd be at mass every morning!" He and I laughed. The rest held their heads.
"Wine drowns more men than water," I high-fived O'Reilly. The hungover three looked up with evil eyes at us, and the looks meant, shut yer gob. Well, after a few more of these wonderful old Irish sayings, Kevin raised out of his chair and shouted at us, "And the drunk will soon have daylight through the rafters!" And he held up a finger to emphasise the point. With that, he sat down, I looked at O'Reilly who snickered and shrugged. In a whisper, he said, "For shure dat be a new one on me." And he sat down as did I, our grins turned to pondering on our faces. I still haven't figured that one out to this day.
Updates:
I found in Dublin, while the imbibing was limited on St. Patrick's Day, the imbibing over the weekend was like a free-for-all.
An update on Kevin, he be doing time for shooting his landlord in the leg a month later. He wasn't too drunk at the time. Thus, he sort of hit his mark.
Evan has sworn off the hard stuff and now only drinks Shirley Temples. Seems he has liver problems, poor man.
You'll be happy to know Erin be in an AA programme to this day and hasn't touched a drop, but my oh my, the one you'd least expect it from to take a terrible chance. Sigh.
And O'Reilly, what can I say about that one? He was the heaviest drinker of all of them; well, he be senior editor for a large Dublin newspaper he be. Yup, I don't get it, but he did like his work, and drink never seemed to interfere, it only made him more apt to put his nose to the grindstone. Go figure.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
