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“You know, nobody really understands complete failure, unless of course it happens to yourself personally”, said a rather reflective sounding Mikey Ryan to his fellow Thurles friend Gerry Grant. Both men were to be found supping pints in the doorway of the Arch Bar, Liberty Square, Thurles; their work having been brought to a complete halt by torrential rain, which had arrived courtesy of Hurricane Gert; latter pushing eastward from the Atlantic Ocean.
“How do you mean”, said Gerry.
“Don’t look, but do you see Patsy McGann sheltering in the doorway of Supermac’s across the street” said Mikey. “Better known as ‘Silent’ nowadays, due to the fact that he refuses, point blank, to enter into even one single word of dialogue with his fellow man. Sure, he won’t even bid you the time of day” continued Mikey.
“Aye, sad, sure I wonder what happened there”, queried Gerry.
“Ah begod it’s no secret”, said Mikey, “Sure, he used to be a teacher; spent his early teaching years in the Bolivian jungle or some such hole; supposedly teaching backward red tribal natives the English language, and also how to behave in a civilised fashion, in accordance with our practised modern Irish standards. They say he hasn’t spoken one word since he returned here to Thurles.”
Mikey took a mouthful of his beer before continuing, “They say it all started when Patsy took a native Amazon tribal Chief; Waziri, I believe his name was; for a walk in the dense jungle, to teach him the English vocabulary. Patsy was there pointing to a tree and saying to the chief, “Tree” and the chief is looking at the tree, grunting, pointing, before saying “Tree”. Pleased with the overall response by the Amazon tribal chief, they now walk a little further and Patsy supposedly points to a rock, saying “Rock”. Again, the chief looks, grunts and points, saying “Rock”.
“As you can imagine”, said Mikey, “Patsy is feeling enthusiastic about the progress in his English lesson. Then, without warning, his vocabulary class is suddenly disturbed by a noisy rustling in the nearby Monkey Brush Vines (Combretum rotundifolium). Fearing an attack by a colony of Pit Viper Rattlesnakes, they peek over the top of the bushes, to encounter a tribal male and female in, shall we just say, a rather embarrassing and somewhat compromising posture”.
“Patsy now” said Mikey, taking time to swallow another mouthful of beer, “gets rather flustered, but quickly responds, whispering, “See Man riding bicycle”. Chief Waziri looks at the couple briefly, before pulling out his hollowed, bamboo blowpipe; killing the couple, with two well aimed poisoned darts”.
“Teacher Patsy goes totally ballistic”, continued Mikey, “Yelling at the tribal chief about how he has spent years teaching his tribe to be civilised and how to be Christian in their dealings, one with an another; but now after all this newly learned Irish civilisation he is behaving like a loyal member of the Dublin Hutch and Kinahan criminal gang, returning to his old ways, having murdered two of his subjects in cold blood.
The chief again looks, grunts and points, in obvious anger, “Man riding my bicycle”.
“Ah sheer tragedy all right” agreed Gerry, “but sure I suppose as the song lyrics go, it’s like, Trying to learn from what’s behind you, and never knowing what’s in store, makes each day a constant battle just to stay between the shores.“
“Have we the price of another pint before we go?”, queries Mikey.
Mrs Majella Brown, a 70-year-old Thurles woman, having received her free medical card, went to visit her local doctor. Previously she could not have easily afforded the contemptible €65 demanded for the usual 5 minute consultation with her physician, but now thanks to her free medical card, she arrived to the surgery to seek advice on how to revive her husband’s libido.
Having considered her husband’s age and state of health from previous available medical records; the doctor prescribed a well-known product, latter readily obtainable to all medical card holders and known as ‘Viagra’.
“It simply won’t happen, not even a chance”, a dejected Majella informed her friend Betty, in somewhat low tones half an hour later, over a large G & T, in the corner of the Monks Public House, Mitchel Street, Thurles, “Sure it’s me best to get him to take his Type 2 Diabetic tablet in the morning”.
Betty gave Majella one of her renowned knowing smiles, “Not a problem”, said she “Try giving him a Tipperary Viagra”.
“What the hell is a Tipperary Viagra?”, Majella queried.
“It’s Viagra dissolved in his morning tae”, said Betty, with a knowing nod “Believe me I have had the need to used the method meself on a few occasions, on my own ould lad, before he died; God be good to him. Sure, trust me, Majella even without his forbidden use of sugar, he won’t even taste it”.
Having promised to give it an immediate try, Betty called on Majella some days later, for a progress report.
“Well, how did it go?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“Oh faith, it was terrible”, whined Majella, in vocal tones more akin to a hired ‘keener’ (wailer) at a west of Ireland wake, “It was simply unspeakable I tell ya; for the past two days I’ve been totally beside meself!”
“Oh, no! What in the world happened?” queried Betty with a look of tragedy about to set in.
“Well, I did the deed, you know what I mean, just as you advised; but to be sure of outright success on the day, I actually put three tablets in his morning tae, and sure he drank the lot”, said Majella. “Well they literally took effect immediately; he jumped straight up out of his chair, with the smile of an evil Satan on his face; a twinkle in his eye, and with one fierce swoop, with the back of his hand, he resigned the cups, saucers and cutlery; previously laid out on the table; to a flight across the room. He grabbed me from behind, ripped me clothing to tatters, before committing an act of passion there and then, right on top of the highly polished table. ‘Twas truly the stuff of nightmares, I can tell ya Betty; yes and the stuff of a frenzied nightmare at that.”
“What was so terrible about that?” asked Betty, “Wasn’t the experience good?”
“Feckin hell, I do declare it to be the best experience I’ve had since my late-night drunken encounter in the back seat of Paddy Ryan’s Ford Anglia; way back in the late 1950’s”, said Majella, “but there is one major regrettable drawback which has kept me confined here to the house; sure I won’t be able to show me face in ‘Ryan’s Daughter’ Restaurant, in Rossa Street, Thurles, for many a year to come.”
 Cathedral of The Assumption Thurles. Having just scooped the EuroMillions jackpot worth €28.9m; Thurles native Paddy Meagher, after much consideration and deliberation, decided to travel abroad.
Following a visit to Bowe Travel, a travel agency, situated at Friar Street, Thurles, it was decided he should undertake a European tour.
His first stop was the ancient city of Rome. With an interest in church architecture, Paddy went to view the Cathedral of St. John Lateran, latter the official Cathedral of Rome (not St. Peter’s as commonly believed) and the seat of the bishop of Rome, the 266th pontiff, His Holiness, Pope Francis.
Attached to a polished marble column Paddy noticed here, a golden telephone. Amazed that a telephone was needed inside a church, of all places, he queried why it was thought necessary. A passing English speaking priest informed him that it was ‘a direct line to Heaven’, and if he wished to make a call it would cost ‘€500 for a strictly 3 minute duration’. Despite his newly acquired wealth, Paddy declined what he believed as an unnecessary extravagance.
Indeed Paddy’s miserliness and penny-pinching behaviour is often openly discussed here in Thurles. How he had come into the possession of a lottery ticket in the first place was considered a mystery; for certainly he, himself, had never purchased one. It was reckoned that the English, seven sided, large 50 pence coin was designed so as to remove same from Paddy’s fist, using a size 12 spanner.
His meanness was not just publicly displayed by his insistence that a fork be always kept in his sugar bowl, but on one occasion, when heading out to the Arch Bar, Liberty Square, here in Thurles, he had turned to his wife Mary, in front of neighbours, advising that she should put on her hat and coat.
“Awe Paddy” said she, “that’s nice; are you taking me out to the Arch Bar?’
“Nah”, replied Paddy, “I’ve just switched off the central heating; sure there is no need to be wasting oil while I’m out.’
Now as Paddy travelled to each of the major cities in Europe, he continued to see these same golden telephones installed in the Cathedrals where he visited. Always he queried the cost and always the reply came back; “a direct line to heaven for 3 minutes at a cost of €500”.
On returning to his home town of Thurles, in Co. Tipperary; having finished his European tour, Paddy went to the 11.00 am. Mass in the Cathedral of The Assumption, Cathedral Street. Walking through the ornate facade, he discovered that as part of recent beautiful restoration work, here also was now installed a golden phone, attached to one of the old magnificent polychrome marble colonettes. A sign underneath the phone read, “Call Heaven Direct – 3 Minutes – 25 Cents”.
Disbelieving the sign, Paddy called over to the Parochial House across the road. “Father”, said he, “I have travelled extensively all across Europe and I have seen numerous golden telephones in numerous Cathedrals in other countries, but the price for a 3 minute call has always been €500. Can you explain why the phone in Thurles is only .25 cents?
Smiling the priest stated, “Paddy remember you are in Thurles now, sure it’s the price of a standard local call”.
A long standing, competitive member of Thurles Golf Club was involved in a serious car crash some 12 months ago and was rushed by ambulance to University Hospital Limerick.
Just before being put under anaesthetic, his surgeon (as surgeons do), popped in to see him prior to his necessary and impending surgical procedure.
“I have some good news and some bad news,” says the surgeon. “The bad news is that I have to totally remove your right arm!”
“Oh God no!” cries the golfer. “My golfing is over! Please Doc, what’s the good news?”
“Well, the good news is” said the surgeon, “I have an available fresh doner part to replace it with; however it’s a woman’s arm and I will need your express permission before going ahead with any future transplant.”
“Do your best doc,” says the golfer, “I don’t care, as long as I can play golf again.”
The operation went well and one year later the golfer was again out chasing that little white ball at Thurles Golf Club. Out also one morning just happened to be his surgeon.
“Hi, how’s that new arm?” asks the surgeon.
“Just great,” says the golfer. “I’m playing the best golf ever. My new arm has a much finer touch, and my putting has improved immensely.”
“That’s great, I’m so delighted” said the surgeon.
“Not only that,” continued the golfer, “but my handwriting has improved, I’ve learned how to sew and knit and I’ve even taken up painting early morning landscapes in watercolour.”
“Truly unbelievable!” said the surgeon, “I’m so glad to hear the transplant was such a great success. However are you experiencing any side effects at all?”
“Well, just two minor side effects”, said the golfer, “I have trouble parallel parking, and every time I get a sexual urge, I also seem to develop a feckin headache.”
[Another chuckle hopefully for Thurles native Eileen Leen. Good morning Eileen and thank you for your message.]
Mikey Ryan’s wife Caoimhe, was heading for Centenary Thurles Co-Op creamery, on the Templemore road, carrying two churns of fresh milk. She was trotting along nice and steady, seated on her donkey and cart, when without warning her distant thoughts were interrupted, with the haulting of her conveyance by none other than Thurles Gardaí.
 “Ma’am”, said the Sergeant, “I’m not going to summons you this time, but I do have to issue you with a warning, as you have a defective reflector on the rear of your donkeys cart”.
“Oh begod”, said Caoimhe,“Faith I’ll let Mikey know about that just as soon as I get home.”
“That’s fine” said the officer, “Oh and by the way one other thing ma’am, I don’t like the way that one end of the asses reins is lying across the animals back, while the other end appears to be attached to his testicles. In this day and age this situation could be easily misconstrued as a cruelty to animals case, resulting in a court appearance. So best to get your husband to takes care of that reins issue as well”.
The Gardaí left about their business and later that morning, over the 11.00am tea break, having unloaded two churns of skimmed milk for the pigs; Caoimhe tells her husband about her encounter with Thurles Gardaí.
“What exactly did the Sergeant say?” said Mikey.
“He said my reflector was defective” said Caoimhe.
“It’s all these bloody new European Union (EU) safety farming rules and regulations brought in” said Mikey, “Still no problem, sure I can fix that in a few minutes; now was there anything else?”.
“I’m not really sure exactly”, said Caoimhe, “these uniformed individuals are inclined to fluster me, but I thing he wasn’t too happy about the donkeys emergency braking system.”
Yea, with these new EU rules, sure you’d be truly kept on your toes here in rural Tipperary. So why don’t you drop in some time, sure there’s always tae in the pot.
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