The Bar

Sitting at the bar, it is amazing how many thoughts do actually go through your mind. There I was yesterday, minding my own business, when a few fellas came to my attention. I dismissed them slightly and sipped away at my beverage. Looking towards the shelving, I couldn’t help but notice the state of the place. The cob webs encasing the out of date crisps, were laying testament to the age of the premises or more importantly, the lack of cleaning. All of a sudden, there was a little to do. A bloke called Jack Daniels found little comfort in the southern people. He felt it not worth his while getting to know them. He was too used to the northern lights back home. Within a few minutes, a few more arrived. Now, don’t get me wrong, everyone, including me, loves a party but a Cork bloke called Gin-Ger decided to mix with a couple of Finches and adding Jack into the party, things were always gonna go a rye. There was a slight shuffle to my right and as I turned to glance, I noticed that Sam Buca made an appearance and I thought to myself, that things were about to get interesting. The Italian was a moody chap.

The two boys behind the bar, Jameson and Powers, didn’t like when things started to mix.

Blending was not one of their strong points. They liked things as tranquil as possible. Things began to quieten down a bit as the din of the few, subsided. It was 2 pm when a part-timer came on duty. Te-Quila was generally a pleasant chap but could sometimes be a bit too strong and sometimes make you cringe. A glance towards the shelving again, I see a carton of dry roasted and an all too familiar feeling came over me…This was...is a little nuts.

                I stopped looking around me for a while, just to gather my thoughts. The constant clamour of voices was over-whelming. After a while sitting on my own, just mulling over what’s what and what’s not, a few of my buds came in. They were obviously in the party mood, you know what I mean…loud and boisterous but harmless nonetheless. It was all a bit of fun but as we all know, too much of a good thing etc. Some guy in the corner, called Mc-Guinness, was feeling a bit on the heavy side and soon started falling asleep. The boys next to him were from Kilkenny I think, were not about to let that pass. One of them, Mr Miller believed him to be choking, decided to do the Heineken remover on him. Probably not the best move in the world…of Coors that was always gonna lead to some of the other Tennents, getting involved.

                Outside in the smoking area were Captain Morgan, Ms Sangria, Messers Smirnoff and Hennessy and someone I  knew very well, a tasty little thing whom I called Ms Baileys. They were contented to sit in the smoking area, playing Texas hold’em and sheltering from the torrent which poured down outside. This was surely better than being diluted by the rain. Any Port in a storm I guess.  Time I went home for dinner and speaking of which, I must drain the spuds. Getting wet inside from the beer and outside from the rain is no excuse for stupidly wetting yourself…Embarrassing.

                On trying to gain entry to my house, the difficulty of the task was both confusing and annoying. Getting mixed up between my house number 38 and 83, is not something I wish to repeat and because the hour was getting late and the weather getting worse. I must have sleep. I awaken the next morning to the brutally loud starlings tweeting, like they’re on bloody twitter or something. You know what I mean, a lot to say and everyone else not listening or couldn’t care less. The head ache was the worst bit, it was like a bad pint of Beamish and as for the rest of me, I was feeling like last night’s Champagne, no sparkle and flat.

Shush! Please, head hurts.