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Strange conversations
Harry Potter, an tha'
The other night I was sittling down to watch a football match on telly, when something hit the front window. I looked over and saw nothing initially, but then, a second later, a small thin arm lept up from behind the flower box and bashed a crumpled bit of green card against the window. Before it fell again, almost taking the window box with it, I just glimpsed the raggy red headed little girl it was attached to. "OI, Mistor, sign me sponsar, wouldje!?". The arm lept up again, this time bringing the wide eyed face behind behind it straight into the dead flowers on the window, bringing the whole lot crashing down on top of her. I jumped up and opened the door quickly to see was she alright, only to be blocked by her brother, a full inch higher, and with a tight crew cut of red hair, and more freckles then skin, who was causualy leaning against the door frame. "Sign me sponsar, wouldje mistor?" Feckin' conned by a 10 year old.
After his sister had extricated herself from my flowerbox ("It-jus'-fell-mistor!") and dusted her self off with the crumpled green card, I found that they had come to collect sponsorship for a read-athon their school was running. What was left of green card showed that hey had probably left a trail of window boxes all over town, as neither was tall enough to reach the bell. I gave them my signature, and they stopped swinging on the garden fence and ran off to bash the neighbours window.
Tonight, they came back for the dosh. She was examining the window box, while he banged on the door. Classic protection racket manouevre, the little devils.
So, what did yez have to read?
-Harry Potter an tha'
Never heard of it
-Yeah ye did. We've come fer our Euros.
What's it about?
-Wha?
Whats Harry Potter an Tha' about? Don't think I've read that one.
-I dunno. S'all witchs an' stuff, and some speckly eejit wirra wand. Bleedin' crap
Yeah, he's read it. I gave him his Money.
Beer, Band, and James Flippin' Bond
One of those nights, where you go out expecting a quiet pint, and come home hours later having had a memorable one. I went down to Mcphails to watch the Oliver Brothers, who normaly play on a Monday night, and got a great performance from the guys on the verge of bringing out their first album. Shades of Lynyrd Skynyrd/Thin Lizzy/god knows what. Fantastic guitar licks smoothed by excellant bass played by an suberb, if somewhat out of place, Paul Simon tee shirt, with perfect, energetic drums envied by every would-be skin thumper in the place. Their version of Peter Greens "Oh Well" did enough to soften the older crowd, without killing the rest of us off with a perfect Chilli Peppers set and a few of their own numbers that brought the house down. I only went down for a pint and ended up out for the night. Your bad news, boys.
I have to thank the guy I met in the nightclub for restoring my faith in idiot stereotypes though. I went down for last drinks with two friends for nothing more then a chat and a pint and was treated to a caberet that was the closest thing to a one man human circus that I have ever met. My friends girlfriend attracts some attention, but his was nothing short of a military manouever. Imagine (Jesus, please!) a tall skinny white guy in combats with darting eyes, deadpan face, crewcut hair and fidgeting hands that never emerged from suspiciously deep pockets and you've almost got him. My friend and I moved in to rescue his girlfriend, and while they escaped, I was unfortunetly sucked into this guys tracktor beam. The interragation went something like this:
Crewcut: What are you doing here!?
Me: pardon?
Crewcut: Where are you from?!
Me: Well, Here!
Crewcut: No, where, are, you, from!!?
Me: Er, Here, Drogheda. Why? What, are you with customs?
Crewcut: Where do you work?
Me: Em, in Dublin.
Crewcut: What do you do?
Me: Area Manager, erm..., and stuff. Why? What do you do?
Crewcut: Can't tell you
Me: Why not?
Crewcut: Just can't..... Secret.
Me: Oh, right. Barman then?
Crewcut: Yes........and no.
Me: Okay, so your a cop?
Crewcut: Maybe
Me: Soldier?
Crewcut: Close
Me: Ooooh. Special forces thingy?
Crewcut: Could be
Me: God, really, Special forces!?
Crewcut: Yeah (Fidgets with trouser pockets). Been in, abroad, you know? Top secret.
Me: Of Course. Good god. The country would never stand a chance if your caught and tortured, would it?. And please, stop doing that with your hands!!