I love my weekends, two days of fun and laughter that stretch ahead of the working week to tantalise and tease us. I had high hopes of a glamorous and girly extravaganza that involved hair, nails and make up but sadly the weekend that was, turned into something completely different.
I should have known to say no when Onda asked me to go to the ‘The Wicky Digit’, the pub at the end of her street on Friday night. Myself, Onda and alcohol are never a good mix, you’d really think I would have learned my lesson by now, but oh no, there is no show without punch!
The Wicky Digit is a funny wee pub, a fusion between ye olde worlde and the brand spanking new. The furnishings are up to date and the decor like something out of ‘My Pub’s Lush Monthly’, the old is supplied by the liberal scattering of sawdust on the floor that the elderly men spit onto, even though that particular pastime was banned in 2005.
A diverse clientèle frequent this particular establishment, a veritable mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. On the rare occasions that Onda and I attend, we are of course the good. Friday nights can be a little hit and miss for eye candy, but sure if you don’t go, you never know.
Dolled to the nines and tottering up the street on heels that would have raised than the dead, we reached the door of the bar around 9pm. ‘Knuckles’, as the doorman is affectionately known greeted us with his usual lopsided smile and a cheeky wink for Onda.
Knuckles: Have you yer big pants on the night Onda for I’ll be looking into them before the night’s out.
Onda: Feck off Knuckles, the only place you’ll be in is hospital if you keep that up.
His laugh could be heard all the way down the street, and Onda for all her bumph and bluster had a wee blush, I think she has a crush on him, but doesn’t like to admit it.
The place was packed, unusual for so early on a Friday, but we never thought anything of it. Spotting Billy and Seamus in the corner we headed over, eager to avail of the two spare seats at their table. After the cursory greetings Onda headed to the bar to get us both a drink;
Me: Seamus, what’s wrong with Billy’s face?
Seamus: What do you mean what’s wrong with it?
Me: Well it’s more limp than a week old lettuce leaf from the vegetable man.
Seamus: Ach he’s mooning over some girl on the Internet.
Me: A real life one or a computer generated one?
Seamus: Oh no real life, he met her on his bog.
Me: WTF!? His bog???
Seamus: Yeah you know, one of those things you write on and people read it.
Me: Oh you mean a blog? What the hell does Seamus keep a blog about?
Seamus: Ferrets, he puts up pictures and everything.
Me: Heaven help us. So if he’s met someone what’s he so sad about.
Seamus: She’s from Belgium.
Me: Is that where they make chocolate?
Seamus: I don’t fecking know.
Me: Right sorry, what else?
Seamus: She has red eyes.
Me: Umm ok, and what else?
Seamus: That’s all he knows, but it’s love for sure, I’ve never seen him this way before.
Me: Billy, are you ok sunshine?
Me: You sure now Billy?
Me: That’s dead on then. Seamus, there’s feck all wrong with him.
At that moment Onda returned with the drinks and I was just filling her in with the gen surrounding Billy and the red eyed love of his life, when a crowd of firemen walked into the bar. I stopped mid sentence, and if it hadn’t been for Seamus putting his hand under my chin and closing my mouth I swear I would have forgotten to breathe. I kid you not, these dudes looked like they just walked straight out of a calendar and into my life.
To be continued………