So it’s, like, Day Whatever-it-is and my interval of isolation is lastly over. I’m about to ring the goys to see if anybody fancies hitting The Bridge for a number of financial institution vacation scoops when abruptly my cellphone rings and it finally ends up being dick options himself.
“Ross Kyle Gibson McBride O’Carroll-Kelly!” he goes. “How the hell are you? Are you over it yet? Even though, officially, as the leader of New Republic, I refuse to acknowledge that it even exists!”
I’m there, “Yes, I’m over it. I didn’t even have any symptoms.”
“On the record, I’m not surprised – you’re just another fool who’s been willingly duped by this famous scamdemic that was dreamt up to loosen the delicate threads that hold together our democratic freedoms! Off the record, I’m very glad to hear it, because I’ve heard it’s a terrible dose!”
“Yeah, no, I’ve heard the same thing said about you.”
“I beg your pordon?”
“I said what the fock do you even want? Dude, I’ve just done a clear antigen test and now I want to go and get messed up.”
He’s like, “Kicker, I am, at this present moment in time, standing in front of our old alma mater – non scholae sed vitae! – and there’s a sign outside that is visible from the road! Shall I read to you what it says?”
“Dude, I’m hanging up on you now.”
“It says, ‘Castlerock College – enrolment now open for 2022-2023! Co-ed from August 2022! Girls welcome!”
“I can’t believe he’s actually going ahead with it.”
Yeah, no, Fionn – my so-called good friend and a member of the well-known Castlerock College one-in-a-row staff – is now the principal of our old fashioned. And he’s completely decided to let – that is probably come going to return throughout as sexist – ladies in?
“Did I mention that this thing is visible from the road?” the outdated man goes.
And I’m like, “Yeah, no, I think that’s possibly the point of putting up a sign in the first place, you stupid focking sap.”
“As Castlerock College Old Boys, it’s incumbent on you and I, Ross, to put a stop to this!”
“Dude, I’ve told him he’s being a knob, but he won’t listen. It’s that assistant principal he’s been seeing. She’s got inside his head.”
Yeah, no, Ciara Casaubon is her identify. It’s solely since he storted seeing her that the entire co-ed factor got here up as a difficulty.
“A silent woman is always more admired than a noisy one!” the outdated man goes. “Was it Virgil who said that? It doesn’t sound like Virgil – of course, that’s often a sign that is!”
“Sorry, Kicker, this thing has shaken me to my core! Is this – quote-unquote – pal of yours likely to be working today?”
He’s like, ‘The ladies received’t be enjoying hockey – they’ll be enjoying rugby, similar to the boys.’ The outdated man’s face turns actually white and his backside lip storts quivering. For a minute, I believe he’s about to have one other one in all his well-known hort assaults.
“Who, Fionn? On a May bank holiday weekend? I would say definitely. If you’re going in there to see him, wait for me. I still think I can reach the dude. We played rugby together. That’s still got to be worth something – even in this day and age.”
So 20 minutes later, me and the outdated man are strolling alongside the hallowed halls of Castlerock College, on the best way to the principal’s workplace, and all we will hear is that this, like, hammering noise.
The outdated man’s like, “What in the name of Hades is that infernal racket?”
Ten seconds later, we’ve our reply. The hammering is coming from behind a door. And on that door is an indication indicating that that is now a bathroom for – once more, I’m simply going to return out and say it – ladies? The outdated man pushes the door and morches in.
I’m like, “Dude, I’m not 100 per cent sure you’re allowed to just do that?”
“Oh, nonsense!” he goes. “They’re still building the bloody well things!”
I observe him inside and instantly there we’re, nose to nose with three, I don’t know, I’m presuming plumbers?
The outdated man seems them up and down and goes, “Well? How are you enjoying your blood money?”
All of a sudden, the person himself – we’re speaking Fionn – arrives on the scene. He’s like, “Ross, what are you doing here?”
The outdated man goes, “We might just as easily ask you the same question! Women’s toilets? I mean, what’s next? A hockey pitch?”
“We won’t be laying a hockey pitch, Charles.”
“Well, you say that now – but I suspect that this is the stort of a very slippery slope!”
And that’s when Fionn says it.
He’s like, “The girls won’t be playing hockey – they’ll be playing rugby, just like the boys.”
The outdated man’s face turns actually white and his backside lip storts quivering. For a minute, I believe he’s about to have one other one in all his well-known hort assaults.
The outdated man smiles at him – it’s the type of smile he pulls when he’s licking lobster butter off his lips
“That’s it!” he goes. “The final insult!” after which he turns to the workmen. “You, you and you! What’s he paying you?”
“Sorry?” one in all them goes.
“How much is he paying you? To fit these toilets? Never mind! I’ll pay you each a thousand euro per day not to work for him!”
Fionn goes, “You’re being childish now, Charles.”
Except the three dudes are instantly all ears. A thousand yoyos per day? They wouldn’t have earned that type of cash since 2007.
A reminiscence instantly comes again to me, from again within the day, when Sorcha employed a plumber to have our bathrooms transformed to dual-flush and I walked into our en suite to seek out him snorting cocaine off the highest of the cistern at 11 o’clock within the morning. The Celtic Tiger was a tremendous factor in our lives when you consider it.
“A thousand euro per day to sit with me and my son in. . . to which hostelry are we repairing, Kicker?”
I’m like, “The Bridge.”
“The Bridge! What do you say, chaps?”
The dudes all have a look at one another and go, “Sounds good to us,” they usually instantly – I shit you not – stort placing their instruments away.
Fionn simply shakes his head. He goes, “Charles, I’ll find someone else to do it. You can’t pay every single plumber in the country a thousand euro per day to not work for me.”
The outdated man smiles at him – it’s the type of smile he pulls when he’s licking lobster butter off his lips.
“Oh, can’t I?” he goes. “You just bloody well watch me!”