No Golf For Mikey Ryan On Paddy’s Day

“You are probably aware that scientists have recently discovered a food that can cause major grief and prolonged suffering; up to 60 years in some cases, after it has been consumed”, said Mikey Ryan. “It’s called feckin wedding cake”.

We were above in the Arch Bar, and Mikey had just arrived, displaying a bright red swollen jaw. “Was it the result of a sudden precipitous assault by his ‘little woman’ or was it simply a transitory mouth abscess?”, I wondered. Mikey’s above statement was the reply I received when curiosity got the better of me and, I queried the possible reason for the swelling.

In a low verbal murmur, Mikey explained what really had happened. I appears that he had attended a once off marketing lecture above in the Tipperary Institute (LIT), and to use his own words he had “hugged a young one”, without giving her fair notification of his intentions.
The surprised lassie had stepped back exclaiming “What was that for?”
Mikey had smiled at her, exclaiming, “That’s what I call Direct Marketing!”  The lassie, a former Black Belt in East Asian martial arts, had then retaliated, soundly striking him with a sharp shot to the jaw.
“What was that for?”  said Mikey, rubbing a painful cheek.
“That’s what I call Customer Feedback”, said the offended damsel, before walking away.

“Well did you manage to go golfing on Paddy’s Day”, said I, changing the subject.
“No”, said Mikey, “Sure when I woke up on Saturday morning I said to the little woman, Petal, would you brew us up a mug of coffee?  Well you want to see the look on her wrinkled phizzog as she screeched : ‘Sure that’s your task’.

” Now as we all know there are certain jobs that are best undertaken by women, coffee brewing being one of them, so my natural reaction was the simple question, how in the name of God, do you make out that coffee making is my task?”, replied Mikey
Sure, isn’t is written everywhere in the Bible’s New Testament, you ignoramus”, she screeched again.
“The Bible says absolutely nothing about who’s supposed to brew a mug of coffee, in fact the opposite,” said Mikey, quoting “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands”. (N.B. Husbands should please note Ephesians Chapter 5, Verse 22.)

Of course, according to Mikey, the little woman just reaches out and grabs hold of a bedside Bible (she had acquired same in the bedroom of a certain unnamed hotel, while on their honeymoon, together with one glass ash-tray, two bath towels and a kimono-like  dressing gown), and starts flipping through the pages at random, “See here, and here, its everywhere, read it for yourself;  “Hebrews, Hebrews, Hebrews; which reminds me, today might be a good day for you to show your face in Church again, before you go making any stupid plans to go golfing or such like”.

“So”, said Mikey, “now you know why we call our spoken language the “mother tongue”; because the man never gets to put in a word edgeways. Sure, you know yourself, women are like our potholed rural roads; the more the curves, the bigger the danger, if you know what I mean; so, I conveniently forgot the golf and having attended 10.30 am Mass in the Cathedral, I stayed in to watched the Rugby on the TV, instead.

“Right”, said I “So it was rugby for Paddy’s day for you. Tell me what would you call an Englishman standing in the London Marriott Hotel, Twickenham, holding a bottle of Champagne, after an England versus Ireland rugby match?
“I haven’t an iota” said Mikey after a brief pause.
“Faith the English Rugby Manager Eddie Jones knows”, said I, “Sure what else would you call him, but a feckin Wine Waiter”.

“You know”, said I “Snow White was returning out of the Thurles Shopping Centre on last Saturday morning, heading back to her cottage in the woods where she lived with those seven dwarfs.  Then in the distance she sees a trail of smoke in the sky, and as she gets nearer, she realised that her little cottage has burnt to the ground. Now fearing the worst she begins searching deeper in the surrounding woodland for her seven dwarf companions. Suddenly she hears a lone voice chanting, “England for the World Cup, England for the World Cup, England for the World Cup”; so, you can imagine her relief when she realised that now at least ‘Dopey’ was safe.”

“Does Snow White really exist then?”, said Mikey. “Of course she does”, said I, “Ask any child, sure isn’t she living beside the Leprechaun on Thurles Golf Course, that you told me about last Friday“.

“Give us two pints there Pat please”, said I.


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