560
6 August 2012
R. Linda:
I forgot to tell you about a rather rowdy time at a pub while I was in Northern Ireland. Actually, I've been trying to forget about it, but it keeps creeping back into me memory, so I thought if I wrote it out, it would go away. I had me father-in-law with me and me Da. It was one of those days we rode from one end of Northern Ireland to the other and then back again. We had all dined and gone to our respective rooms for the night, but I was restless and wandered down to the castle bar. Soon there was Big Tony come, and shortly later in wandered me dear ol wan. It was crowded, so we decided instead to take the short walk to the pub just down the road.
When we were within twenty yards of the place, we could hear the music blaring and the shouting, and we thought it sounded like a good time, so in we went.
No sooner in the door, a person went flying by, and then a bottle came zooming passed and ended its flight with a crash of glass.
"Do you still want to go in?" I asked me companions.
"Hell, this is my kinda place," Big Tony said, pushing his macho way in.
Me Da shrugged and followed suit with me, bringing up the rear.
"F--- me!" Said some guy as Tony pushed on through.
"Whaddya say?" Tony stuck out his chest with his fists clenched.
This may work as a big bad guy in Jersey, but in Ireland, well . . . the bloke started laughing. Yes, he did, and he called attention to Tony by pointing to him and saying to his mates, "Ey, will ya luke at dis bollix," and he and they all laughed, which perplexed Tony, who deflated almost instantly because he didn't know what a bollix was.
Seeing this was a challenge to family manhood, me old Da stepped up in front of the reprobate before I could catch hold of him, and with his chin jutting out, he said, "Jaysus ya bleedin' wanker git, show respect ta yer elders, or I'll be forced ta show yer friends what a total wanker ya really are. Ya should ask US in not act da maggot."
You got to love me old man; he's a piece of work when he wants to be. Well, the bloke laughed at this. This was a great show now, and I wasn't in the mood for a session of fisticuffs, so I gently pushed my companions on past and shook me head.
But remarks like, "For sure you goo on like teats on a bull ya feckers," and "Ask me arse ya wanker," to which no retort be made good enough known to man to be a pleasant response, so I ignored them all and pushed the two on in front of me nearly falling over a dog.
The dog was a staple of the pub and had come over to greet the new arrivals. I patted him on the head as Tony looked surprised. I explained to him a dog was not an unusual inhabitant of a pub in Britain.
We got to the bar as a group moved out, so our order came shortly, and so did the disco music. Tony was all juken with the beat of the Bee Gees, Stayin' Alive, while me father rolled his eyes at me. I smiled as the beers were delivered and was thoroughly amused by me father-in-law's moves. There was even a mirror ball on the ceiling. It came on suddenly and startled everyone to a group "OOHHH" of surprise and then laughter. There were a few people, tourists it looked, out on a small postage stamp of a dance floor doing disco moves and Tony was still doing them at the bar, which caught the attention of the same belligerent locals that had challenged us as we walked in. They were pointing and chuckling at his oblivious self. I think Tony actually thought his busting a move looked good. I dunno, but it was painfully close to Elaine's moves on the old Seinfeld show that I had to look away not to laugh too, but the dog was sitting on its hunches, wholly taken with watching Tony; it looked with great doggy admiration.
After a few minutes, the disco music was replaced by a young man with a microphone who came out under the mirror ball to say a few words. He made some funny remarks and then announced it was time for the "Riverdance dance off! Come on up here ladies and gents, if ye tink yer can dance like Michael Flatley! And you sir," he pointed at Tony, "ya have da moves so coom oop 'ere and show us wot ya got."
Never one to shirk an outright call out, Tony smiled and bopped on up there, the crowd laughing their arses off, and it was pretty evident old Tony thought he looked cool doing his jerky moves. Even the dog barked its encouragement.
"Duz ee' even know wot river dance is?" Me Da asked, watching Tony's smiling, bopping self, gold chains flashing in the light.
"I have no idea, but I tink so," I said, sipping me beer. I felt around for me mobile phone, and realised I didn't have it. I cursed meself because I wanted to get this on video; it would be a priceless family treasure.
"Coom on now the rest of yers git oop 'ere an show us wot ya got." The emcee said.
Me Da was shoving me, but I said no, we needed to give Tony his moment. Right.
I was amazed that about twelve young men (no ladies) stepped up to join Tony. Everyone was laughing, drinking and egging them on. A few smart jeers were thrown at a few of the welcoming committee as I noticed three or four of them had joined the "dancers." The dog also trotted up to the stage and was barking to be included, but the emcee wasn't having it and made some humourous remarks to the animal before it was held out of the way by a helpful bar patron.
"Oh, dis should be good," me Da said, getting a fresh brew and settling in to watch.
"Now folks, da idea be fer da boys 'ere ta step dance as best dey can and da one dat duz it da best gits da Michael Flatley Award fer his trooble. And dat would be tree free beers of his choice! But dare be a catch, dare be. As we start, I'll ask da audience 'ere which ones should be eliminated, and when we are doon ta tree, we'll step up da music and da one dat duz hiz best be da winner. Are ya ready, boys?"
There was a general shout of YEAH, and the "boys" got in lines of three, one in front of the other, and this, I guessed, was how they eliminated who had two left feet.
"Cue music!" The Emcee raised his hand, and it came on. It was Irish music from Riverdance, and the "boys" were right on it. In the first line of three, two stayed, and one was eliminated. In the following line of three, all three stayed, and they were good, I was impressed. The next line with Big Tony danced forward, and he was awful, but the crowd was cheering to keep him in, so he stayed as one was eliminated, and the last line came forward. All of them were bad and out. I think they left Tony in because he was really funny to watch, and they needed one clodhopper to make it interesting.
The music got a little faster, I thought, and at first, I wondered if it was my imagination, but me father stopped in mid-sip to listen, and we looked at each other and laughed because, yes, the music had sped up a wee bit. This sent the dancers into overdrive. The heel-to-board sounded in loud bangs as the heel met wood, but it was a howl to watch Tony trying not to use his arms and keep them down as the others were doing. He was used to using his whole frame to dance, and this was a real challenge. He'd catch himself and look sheepish like he hoped no one noticed, but we all did. I gave him props for trying to imitate the others and keep up with them.
Tony's gold chains were flipping around his chin, and his well-muscled self was jiggling a little. He was off step more often than not with left instead of right lead, but he was trying, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, but the crowd was enjoying him more!
The music was sped up, and what happened next stopped the music as they all fell drunkenly over each other and were laughing on the floor. They soon got themselves straight though, and upright. But the emcee didn't cue the music quite yet; he had them form a line, and he put his hand over each dancer's head. The applause eliminated all but three. Yee-ah, they kept Big Tony. I don't know why; he did not know what he was doing, but the crowd loved his awkward moves and bumbling feet.
Well, excitement was building along with the empty beers piling up. The friends of some, were shouting out their names and encouraging this disaster on.
"I tink since we are doon to our finalists we should introduce dem ta yas and find out sumting about each one." The emcee said stepping up to one of the welcoming committee who had made it to the "finals." Yes, indeed.
"Me name be Kiernan and I'm frum Dingle and I be on da dole." Kiernan said proudly.
"OK, den," the emcee said, "an' Kier ye have any dance experience?"
Kier had to think on that one. It took a painful moment, and then he shook his head.
"OK, Kier," the emcee said and turned to Big Tony in the middle, "and yer name, sir?"
"Tony, but dey call me BIG."
"For feck's sake!" The emcee said, grinning and surprised, "And to look at ya, would we know dat?"
And everyone laughed as Big Tony smiled like a tool.
"Where ya from, dare Big?"
"New Jersey," and then he leaned into the mic to say, "That would be the US of A."
Oh, the cheers to this and the foot stamping and dog barking! It was deafening and all a sham, but Tony was buying it like it was on sale. The patrons were all seasoned pros to this kind of thing, and Tony was as clueless as a blond in a lightbulb store. We were told to cheer like a bunch of Protestants, and we did. The emcee went to the last man standing.
"And you are?"
"The Dav," the man said, looking all tough. He was a nice looking bloke he was. The Dav, blond hair close-cropped, muscled and the last sort you'd think to find in a Riverdance competition, but there he was. He, too, bent his mouth close to the mic to say, "And I come with a warning, I can shift bitters with any man in here; just give me da sign."
There was a lot of ARUGH ARUGH ARUGHs and fist pumping to that as the crowd got worked up.
"An' The Dav, where ya be frum man?"
"Ima Belfast man," cheers took over as he loudly proclaimed, "Norn iron through and through, mate." This was said with a shit-eating grin as the house cheered and stamped again to a deafening roar.
"Are we ready mates?" The emcee shouted as the music started again, and they were off and dancing up a storm! Tony had got the hang of it to a reasonable extent and was keeping his arms down and pounding the floor like no tomorrow. But The Dav was by far the most experienced to which me Da was whispering in me ear he probably had taken dancing lessons, a big bruiser like him, and a ringer for sure.
The Dav and Kiernan moved closer to each other and really were trying to out-dance each other. It was a sight, and there was Big Tony on the left, bumbling along but bumbling all the same, trying his darnedest to win.
Well, the winner quite obviously was The Dav, who then proceeded to drink everyone under the table, but Big Tony got an award for best beginner, and flaky Kier got nothing, not even a notice he'd been one of the three. The beers flowed, the bitters came out, the porter was next, then back to Murphys and then to Guinness. We were pie-eyed drunk, a lot of us, and rowdy as the day was old. The music had changed over to metal, then to pop, then to (of all things) what sounded like Bach. No one seemed to notice; that's how drunk they were, and I was fine with all this. Tony had made some new friends that he couldn't understand a word they said (that's because they were all Irish). To be fair, they couldn't understand Tony's Jersey accent either, but as long as the alcohol was flowing, no one cared what the other was trying to communicate, if you can call it communicating.
But the loud ruckus that broke out toward the back of the bar stopped all this newfound friendship. It seemed two old ladies had got into it, and a full-fledged old lady catfight broke out. Me and me Da stood at the bar, amazed at what we were seeing. The two of them had to be in their sixties or seventies if they be a day, and they were going at it with the kicking of shins, pulling of hair, scratching of the face, punching and screaming, it was an old lady riot of two.
And all the male bozos in the place were egging them on; I tell ya, I was looking around like, is someone going to stop this before we see more than we need to and become blinded for life? I gotta tell ya, both of them were sights in themselves. One was fat and squat with plump red cheeks, fat little fingers, knee socks, farm shoes, and a dress that was right out of the 1950s. The other one was a skinny thing wearing what looked like her old hubby's trousers, a worn long jacket frayed at the elbows, and she was a mass of wrinkles. She looked like a shar pei fighting with a hog. I know, my bad.
Bets were being placed, and I was totally gobsmacked. It was as if me mam and the old dragon-in-law had got into it. I said such to me Da, like shouldn't THAT be stopped?
"It be like a run-away train ya can't stoop it." And he returned to his beer and started sipping away as if nothing much was going on.
I heard Tony shout, "Jesus!" And one of his new friends corrected him with, "No, Jaysus!" Tony shouted THAT out and got a hearty pounding on the back and a "Now ya sound like an Irishman!"
"Oh lordy," me Da mumbled into his beer at that.
The bartender was leaning on the bar, watching all this. He said to me, Da, as he pointed to Tony and his new friends, "He's a mick fer sure now," then he shouted and pointed at the two women, "Feck didja see dat!"
One had head locked the other, and down they went to the crash of chairs they knocked over. I was still thinking this form of bloody amusement needed to be stopped. I should go stop it, but lucky for me, I didn't get to move far because one of their old men came walking in, and when he saw the two of them on the floor locked in combat and everyone else cheering, he strode with purpose not usually seen in an Irish husband straight to the two of them.
"Chrissie, fer fecks sake, she ain't worth a whores knickers she ain't!" The old man said, pulling the skinny woman off the fat one.
"I'll give er' a thick ear, I will," the skinny Chrissie shouted, and the crowd cheered.
"You will in yer arse do dat ya codgy rubbish!" The fat woman shouted, getting herself upright and brushing off her dress to another loud cheer.
"Yer jus like yer mutha," Chrissie shouted.
"You should know she wuz yer mutha too!" The fat one cried out.
"Sisters?" I said to me Da, who nodded.
"Seems so," he said, contemplating his beer.
Well, it all seemed a family argy and was taken outside. I understand the old lady catfight got its second wind before the police were called, and they were hauled off to the nick.
Meanwhile, inside, to keep people from going outside to egg on the combatants, the music was started back up. The only problem was when I turned around, most everyone had gone outside to see the continuation of the old lady catfight, and the music was a waltz. It was strange, there was me Da, the bar tender, cleaning a glass, and Old Tony sitting at a table. The pub dog was sitting next to him, and both were staring at the door as if everyone would come back in.
"This is surreal," I muttered to meself, looking around as the mirror ball continued its rotation and the coloured lights changed their tones as well. We were kind of blasted out of our skulls, I do think, and it be the only way to explain that the last memory of that night I had was that I was waltzing with me Da while the barkeeper waltzed with his dog. Big Tony kept time with the music by tapping his fingers on the tabletop, and I do believe I could just hear the sound of sirens outside and see flashing police lights competing with the lighted colour wheel of the mirror ball, but I can't be sure I didn't dream it either!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
6 August 2012
R. Linda:
I forgot to tell you about a rather rowdy time at a pub while I was in Northern Ireland. Actually, I've been trying to forget about it, but it keeps creeping back into me memory, so I thought if I wrote it out, it would go away. I had me father-in-law with me and me Da. It was one of those days we rode from one end of Northern Ireland to the other and then back again. We had all dined and gone to our respective rooms for the night, but I was restless and wandered down to the castle bar. Soon there was Big Tony come, and shortly later in wandered me dear ol wan. It was crowded, so we decided instead to take the short walk to the pub just down the road.
When we were within twenty yards of the place, we could hear the music blaring and the shouting, and we thought it sounded like a good time, so in we went.
No sooner in the door, a person went flying by, and then a bottle came zooming passed and ended its flight with a crash of glass.
"Do you still want to go in?" I asked me companions.
"Hell, this is my kinda place," Big Tony said, pushing his macho way in.
Me Da shrugged and followed suit with me, bringing up the rear.
"F--- me!" Said some guy as Tony pushed on through.
"Whaddya say?" Tony stuck out his chest with his fists clenched.
This may work as a big bad guy in Jersey, but in Ireland, well . . . the bloke started laughing. Yes, he did, and he called attention to Tony by pointing to him and saying to his mates, "Ey, will ya luke at dis bollix," and he and they all laughed, which perplexed Tony, who deflated almost instantly because he didn't know what a bollix was.
Seeing this was a challenge to family manhood, me old Da stepped up in front of the reprobate before I could catch hold of him, and with his chin jutting out, he said, "Jaysus ya bleedin' wanker git, show respect ta yer elders, or I'll be forced ta show yer friends what a total wanker ya really are. Ya should ask US in not act da maggot."
You got to love me old man; he's a piece of work when he wants to be. Well, the bloke laughed at this. This was a great show now, and I wasn't in the mood for a session of fisticuffs, so I gently pushed my companions on past and shook me head.
But remarks like, "For sure you goo on like teats on a bull ya feckers," and "Ask me arse ya wanker," to which no retort be made good enough known to man to be a pleasant response, so I ignored them all and pushed the two on in front of me nearly falling over a dog.
The dog was a staple of the pub and had come over to greet the new arrivals. I patted him on the head as Tony looked surprised. I explained to him a dog was not an unusual inhabitant of a pub in Britain.
We got to the bar as a group moved out, so our order came shortly, and so did the disco music. Tony was all juken with the beat of the Bee Gees, Stayin' Alive, while me father rolled his eyes at me. I smiled as the beers were delivered and was thoroughly amused by me father-in-law's moves. There was even a mirror ball on the ceiling. It came on suddenly and startled everyone to a group "OOHHH" of surprise and then laughter. There were a few people, tourists it looked, out on a small postage stamp of a dance floor doing disco moves and Tony was still doing them at the bar, which caught the attention of the same belligerent locals that had challenged us as we walked in. They were pointing and chuckling at his oblivious self. I think Tony actually thought his busting a move looked good. I dunno, but it was painfully close to Elaine's moves on the old Seinfeld show that I had to look away not to laugh too, but the dog was sitting on its hunches, wholly taken with watching Tony; it looked with great doggy admiration.
After a few minutes, the disco music was replaced by a young man with a microphone who came out under the mirror ball to say a few words. He made some funny remarks and then announced it was time for the "Riverdance dance off! Come on up here ladies and gents, if ye tink yer can dance like Michael Flatley! And you sir," he pointed at Tony, "ya have da moves so coom oop 'ere and show us wot ya got."
Never one to shirk an outright call out, Tony smiled and bopped on up there, the crowd laughing their arses off, and it was pretty evident old Tony thought he looked cool doing his jerky moves. Even the dog barked its encouragement.
"Duz ee' even know wot river dance is?" Me Da asked, watching Tony's smiling, bopping self, gold chains flashing in the light.
"I have no idea, but I tink so," I said, sipping me beer. I felt around for me mobile phone, and realised I didn't have it. I cursed meself because I wanted to get this on video; it would be a priceless family treasure.
"Coom on now the rest of yers git oop 'ere an show us wot ya got." The emcee said.
Me Da was shoving me, but I said no, we needed to give Tony his moment. Right.
I was amazed that about twelve young men (no ladies) stepped up to join Tony. Everyone was laughing, drinking and egging them on. A few smart jeers were thrown at a few of the welcoming committee as I noticed three or four of them had joined the "dancers." The dog also trotted up to the stage and was barking to be included, but the emcee wasn't having it and made some humourous remarks to the animal before it was held out of the way by a helpful bar patron.
"Oh, dis should be good," me Da said, getting a fresh brew and settling in to watch.
"Now folks, da idea be fer da boys 'ere ta step dance as best dey can and da one dat duz it da best gits da Michael Flatley Award fer his trooble. And dat would be tree free beers of his choice! But dare be a catch, dare be. As we start, I'll ask da audience 'ere which ones should be eliminated, and when we are doon ta tree, we'll step up da music and da one dat duz hiz best be da winner. Are ya ready, boys?"
There was a general shout of YEAH, and the "boys" got in lines of three, one in front of the other, and this, I guessed, was how they eliminated who had two left feet.
"Cue music!" The Emcee raised his hand, and it came on. It was Irish music from Riverdance, and the "boys" were right on it. In the first line of three, two stayed, and one was eliminated. In the following line of three, all three stayed, and they were good, I was impressed. The next line with Big Tony danced forward, and he was awful, but the crowd was cheering to keep him in, so he stayed as one was eliminated, and the last line came forward. All of them were bad and out. I think they left Tony in because he was really funny to watch, and they needed one clodhopper to make it interesting.
The music got a little faster, I thought, and at first, I wondered if it was my imagination, but me father stopped in mid-sip to listen, and we looked at each other and laughed because, yes, the music had sped up a wee bit. This sent the dancers into overdrive. The heel-to-board sounded in loud bangs as the heel met wood, but it was a howl to watch Tony trying not to use his arms and keep them down as the others were doing. He was used to using his whole frame to dance, and this was a real challenge. He'd catch himself and look sheepish like he hoped no one noticed, but we all did. I gave him props for trying to imitate the others and keep up with them.
Tony's gold chains were flipping around his chin, and his well-muscled self was jiggling a little. He was off step more often than not with left instead of right lead, but he was trying, and he seemed to be enjoying himself, but the crowd was enjoying him more!
The music was sped up, and what happened next stopped the music as they all fell drunkenly over each other and were laughing on the floor. They soon got themselves straight though, and upright. But the emcee didn't cue the music quite yet; he had them form a line, and he put his hand over each dancer's head. The applause eliminated all but three. Yee-ah, they kept Big Tony. I don't know why; he did not know what he was doing, but the crowd loved his awkward moves and bumbling feet.
Well, excitement was building along with the empty beers piling up. The friends of some, were shouting out their names and encouraging this disaster on.
"I tink since we are doon to our finalists we should introduce dem ta yas and find out sumting about each one." The emcee said stepping up to one of the welcoming committee who had made it to the "finals." Yes, indeed.
"Me name be Kiernan and I'm frum Dingle and I be on da dole." Kiernan said proudly.
"OK, den," the emcee said, "an' Kier ye have any dance experience?"
Kier had to think on that one. It took a painful moment, and then he shook his head.
"OK, Kier," the emcee said and turned to Big Tony in the middle, "and yer name, sir?"
"Tony, but dey call me BIG."
"For feck's sake!" The emcee said, grinning and surprised, "And to look at ya, would we know dat?"
And everyone laughed as Big Tony smiled like a tool.
"Where ya from, dare Big?"
"New Jersey," and then he leaned into the mic to say, "That would be the US of A."
Oh, the cheers to this and the foot stamping and dog barking! It was deafening and all a sham, but Tony was buying it like it was on sale. The patrons were all seasoned pros to this kind of thing, and Tony was as clueless as a blond in a lightbulb store. We were told to cheer like a bunch of Protestants, and we did. The emcee went to the last man standing.
"And you are?"
"The Dav," the man said, looking all tough. He was a nice looking bloke he was. The Dav, blond hair close-cropped, muscled and the last sort you'd think to find in a Riverdance competition, but there he was. He, too, bent his mouth close to the mic to say, "And I come with a warning, I can shift bitters with any man in here; just give me da sign."
There was a lot of ARUGH ARUGH ARUGHs and fist pumping to that as the crowd got worked up.
"An' The Dav, where ya be frum man?"
"Ima Belfast man," cheers took over as he loudly proclaimed, "Norn iron through and through, mate." This was said with a shit-eating grin as the house cheered and stamped again to a deafening roar.
"Are we ready mates?" The emcee shouted as the music started again, and they were off and dancing up a storm! Tony had got the hang of it to a reasonable extent and was keeping his arms down and pounding the floor like no tomorrow. But The Dav was by far the most experienced to which me Da was whispering in me ear he probably had taken dancing lessons, a big bruiser like him, and a ringer for sure.
The Dav and Kiernan moved closer to each other and really were trying to out-dance each other. It was a sight, and there was Big Tony on the left, bumbling along but bumbling all the same, trying his darnedest to win.
Well, the winner quite obviously was The Dav, who then proceeded to drink everyone under the table, but Big Tony got an award for best beginner, and flaky Kier got nothing, not even a notice he'd been one of the three. The beers flowed, the bitters came out, the porter was next, then back to Murphys and then to Guinness. We were pie-eyed drunk, a lot of us, and rowdy as the day was old. The music had changed over to metal, then to pop, then to (of all things) what sounded like Bach. No one seemed to notice; that's how drunk they were, and I was fine with all this. Tony had made some new friends that he couldn't understand a word they said (that's because they were all Irish). To be fair, they couldn't understand Tony's Jersey accent either, but as long as the alcohol was flowing, no one cared what the other was trying to communicate, if you can call it communicating.
But the loud ruckus that broke out toward the back of the bar stopped all this newfound friendship. It seemed two old ladies had got into it, and a full-fledged old lady catfight broke out. Me and me Da stood at the bar, amazed at what we were seeing. The two of them had to be in their sixties or seventies if they be a day, and they were going at it with the kicking of shins, pulling of hair, scratching of the face, punching and screaming, it was an old lady riot of two.
And all the male bozos in the place were egging them on; I tell ya, I was looking around like, is someone going to stop this before we see more than we need to and become blinded for life? I gotta tell ya, both of them were sights in themselves. One was fat and squat with plump red cheeks, fat little fingers, knee socks, farm shoes, and a dress that was right out of the 1950s. The other one was a skinny thing wearing what looked like her old hubby's trousers, a worn long jacket frayed at the elbows, and she was a mass of wrinkles. She looked like a shar pei fighting with a hog. I know, my bad.
Bets were being placed, and I was totally gobsmacked. It was as if me mam and the old dragon-in-law had got into it. I said such to me Da, like shouldn't THAT be stopped?
"It be like a run-away train ya can't stoop it." And he returned to his beer and started sipping away as if nothing much was going on.
I heard Tony shout, "Jesus!" And one of his new friends corrected him with, "No, Jaysus!" Tony shouted THAT out and got a hearty pounding on the back and a "Now ya sound like an Irishman!"
"Oh lordy," me Da mumbled into his beer at that.
The bartender was leaning on the bar, watching all this. He said to me, Da, as he pointed to Tony and his new friends, "He's a mick fer sure now," then he shouted and pointed at the two women, "Feck didja see dat!"
One had head locked the other, and down they went to the crash of chairs they knocked over. I was still thinking this form of bloody amusement needed to be stopped. I should go stop it, but lucky for me, I didn't get to move far because one of their old men came walking in, and when he saw the two of them on the floor locked in combat and everyone else cheering, he strode with purpose not usually seen in an Irish husband straight to the two of them.
"Chrissie, fer fecks sake, she ain't worth a whores knickers she ain't!" The old man said, pulling the skinny woman off the fat one.
"I'll give er' a thick ear, I will," the skinny Chrissie shouted, and the crowd cheered.
"You will in yer arse do dat ya codgy rubbish!" The fat woman shouted, getting herself upright and brushing off her dress to another loud cheer.
"Yer jus like yer mutha," Chrissie shouted.
"You should know she wuz yer mutha too!" The fat one cried out.
"Sisters?" I said to me Da, who nodded.
"Seems so," he said, contemplating his beer.
Well, it all seemed a family argy and was taken outside. I understand the old lady catfight got its second wind before the police were called, and they were hauled off to the nick.
Meanwhile, inside, to keep people from going outside to egg on the combatants, the music was started back up. The only problem was when I turned around, most everyone had gone outside to see the continuation of the old lady catfight, and the music was a waltz. It was strange, there was me Da, the bar tender, cleaning a glass, and Old Tony sitting at a table. The pub dog was sitting next to him, and both were staring at the door as if everyone would come back in.
"This is surreal," I muttered to meself, looking around as the mirror ball continued its rotation and the coloured lights changed their tones as well. We were kind of blasted out of our skulls, I do think, and it be the only way to explain that the last memory of that night I had was that I was waltzing with me Da while the barkeeper waltzed with his dog. Big Tony kept time with the music by tapping his fingers on the tabletop, and I do believe I could just hear the sound of sirens outside and see flashing police lights competing with the lighted colour wheel of the mirror ball, but I can't be sure I didn't dream it either!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
