I'll be at my local

down to the KLM on paddy's day afternoon. it is a small pub just up the road from roy and finn's place, small and exclusive, although not because the barman says so. the regulars keep to themselves and to the people they know. they'll ask you questions if you come in, show you some kindness and perhaps even buy you a pint.

'be careful not to confuse apparent act of kindness and acceptance. there's a good chance that what you think is irish hospitality is actually them being nosey.'

this place is their's and every head will turn, and every eye stare, if no one recognizes what comes through the door.

'you'd better either know someone in there, or have some reason for going in or you'll not last long.'

we had made these plans with finn and roy nearly three weeks ago, and terry, another roommate, was to come along too. instead of coming along he was already there. finn showed up hours later when the three of us were heavy into a game of pool. it was a professional table and several thousands of euro's, or so i am told, have traded hands because of it. the bar was small and the table appeared to have been made to fit, not six feet long nor three feet wide, however, much like wonka's perception hallway the table did not look too small. it fit the room and occupied exactly as much of the area as it wanted. and as much as it fit the room, it fit the atmosphere of the crowd too: if it didn't want you to play well it wouldn't.
the barman sat on a stool, reading his paper and served drink when necessary. nothing was rushed, nothing was a bother and no one liked the temporary clover tattoo on my forehead; luckily i had brian with me, and luckily his parents were two of the four regulars there.

'wazat? u a toorist? silly yank'
'actually i'm a cana..'
'shur, shur. youwanapint?'
'ah, yeah sure. thank you'
'great then. Bill! what's in the news today? finefine, two hoinikin, when yer ready. hes payin.'
'thanks'

brother bear

it was a week or two ago. we were all on a patio. it was the day i reached a check point. the clay oven was burning rather quickly through the supply of wood on hand and it soon became apparent that more wood be needed if we wear to bee kept warm.

later i would have a dream about tearing down the shel, scavenging the place for bits of wood the owner, gilivan, wouldn't miss. roy was there, and a regular named a-min-d and a few of the other staff as well. soon the whole floor was ripped up the the bar was floating on the few remaining joist. with that job done i went back to the fire, which meant waking in a room full of smoky clothes.

roy's appartment is having work done, shelves removed and toilets added, and it was producing a great deal of, what turned out to be, unburnable bits of wood that, also, turned out to be too big for the clay fire. matty and i went to investigate the situtation and learned a long time after the facts described above. we had been gone a while and finn et al had some bits of stone to get rid of. they climbed on her brothers roof, just off the patio, and tossed pebbles. finn's brother had a few pebbles too, and tossed them her way. [get off d x'ng ruf] came the txt. the three of us, roy, matty and myself, returned bearing gifts of gold trim, wayne scotting and vanities, which needed to be made smaller.

luckly matty and i are ninja's.

my turn came after matt's and just before the arrival of a big angry brother ^[1]. i propped my bit of wood against the wall and would have split it in two, honest, had i not have been distracted.

before me was a bear wearing people clothes standing in the landing in front of me, guarding the only exit. it was speaking but i couldn't hear it over the sound of me pooping my pants for the second time ^[poop]. the bear, brother o'finn, inquired into the delivery of his text earlier.

Brother O'Finn told us he had to work in the morning, which was now an hour ago, and that he would appreciate if we would keep our noise to a non-existance in a tone that suggested his patience for shenanigans ^[2] had expired sometime around the mid 90's.

matty decided to leave when roy convinced himself that since Brother was up already we might as well continue on the same route to destruction we were on. i agreed because my smell was starting to discust myself.

but i don't mind because it gives me character.

locked in

st valentines day i spent at work. which is fine because my mother/valentine is a world away. matty had a night on the town with our two new travel buddies, sarah and nolan. they went out to dinner someplace and and drinks at other places and came to visit me at the end of it all.

roy and i had an entertaining night. i wished all the regulars (men, mind you) a happy valintines day which, for the most part, they shrugged away any concern they might have had which was minimal to begin with. earlier that day at lunch i had wished the same to steve who said he'd give me a kiss later.

he didn't.

as the trio waited around for me to clean up slash decided between cards (matty has learned how to play euchre which really means he tries to play poker with every hand) and going out to a late bar. i suggested we stay at this late bar, not this in the sense that i was about to suggest a particular one but this as in immediately located under out feet. fifteen minutes later, when i had explained the concept of a lock-in* to the girls, i had finished cleaning and we sat down for a good three hours of deep conversation and eighties music. roy, myself, the trio and a new character, kevin (whom i have yet to talk about but might at some other occasion) liberated several pints from the taps and spent a wonderful valentines with the closest thing to a family i have this side of the atlantic because, as well all know, this day is all about family.

unfortunately, i had missed two calls from my valentine because the eighties were too loud and my phone was vibrating in a jacket too far away from me to be warn. she left some nice message though.

nolan spent most of the next day in a coma.

*lock-in: the bartenders kick everyone out save for their friends and the best regulars and the small party of people say "locked in" the pub until the large or at least medium sized morning hours.

Glassesless Brad

Quite often i'll round the bar and come face to confused face with a customer. they look as though they want to ask where their drinks are, but all they can get out is the first part of "you don't wear glasses." Then out of nowhere, rounding the other side of the bar, is an armful of drinks and a glassesless Brad named Roy.

Roy is a writer. An actual writer, not a character who plays one in my imaginary world of imaginary patrons who have imaginary, romantic professions that justify my fueling their alcoholism.

Roy is a father. At twenty five he had a wonderful woman whom with he would have a five year old daughter five years from then; at twenty five i found a wonderful red wagon with whom i've avoided life (The wonderful woman is still wonderful, however she is marrying another man in a few weeks).

Roy is the assistant manager at the Shel, five years older than i and is constantly mistaken for my brother, although no one guesses which of us is older.

[i made a resolution]