Only the best for my Mimi…
Things are tough for Ryan.
He finds it harder every week to make a dishonest living.
He is a Payphone-vandal-scumbag like his dad before him, and his dad before that.
But the disappearance of his main source of subsistence means that he has to travel further afield to keep the family trade alive.
His dad John-Paul retired 5 years ago.
Ryan now fears that the trade will die when he himself is forced into early retirement.
He is quite certain that by the time his little Calum is old enough to hurl a building brick at a payphone, the latter will have well and truly become extinct.
Ryan and Calum, and the few remaining Payphone-vandal-scumbags out there need your help.
For the modest sum of EUR12.75 per minute (subject to a connection fee of EUR25), you too could use the few remaining examples of a proud tradition of antique telephony devices, instead of your boring smartphone, and make Eircom rethink their phasing out of the old payphones.
The future of little Calum depends on you.
Now, that’s a great age my girleen.
Not like back in the days… Jayzus… lemme tell you… It was no walk in the park back then. Not like them hippy schools that you have nowadays.
Integrated learning my arse. The Christian Brothers they were into integration all right. The integration of a leather strap in your butt cheeks.
Jayzus, they could lash out the aul Christian charity like there was no tomorrow. Terrified we was.
Anyways, you don’t want to know about that.
You are happy in your school. I can tell. Paddy sees and hears everything from up here on the wall.
I see you do your homework in 42 seconds flat, not a bother on you. And all the books you read. That Jacqueline Wilson, even with a few decades head start, she can’t write them fast enough, the way you devour them, these books.
And I see all the battles with your bros to get on Moinecraft. It’s like bleedin Lego if you ask me. Just on a shaggin computer.
Well, I suppose you cannot walk on a stray piece of moinecraft when you go for a wee in the middle of the night, and you’re not fully awake, not like them shaggin Lego bricks that embed themselves in the sole of your feet.
Anyways, Ma and Da ticked all the boxes.
The balloons were there on the table when you came downstairs this morning. Well, the ones that didn’t explode during the night. Cheap crap made in China. Your poor Da had to have a beer, to get rid of the taste after inflating them vile yokes. And your Ma thought it was someone shooting a gun in the middle of the night when half of them exploded.
And there was the parcels in the middle of the balloons. And the birthday cards.
That doll of yours, the old style one, like Jacqueline Wilson had when she was a nipper. You want to know where you big cheapo Da got it? In the Age Action second-hand shop next to Centra in Foxfield. A tenner for the old doll (the low price must have been due to the crack in the forehead). Still smells of a granny flat your Ellie May. But I suppose it’s just as well. You instantly fell in love with the creepy looking thing (that’s what Mrs Raheny think, that’s what she was muttering yesterday morning, as she was hoovering in the nip – Paddy sees and hears everything!) As I says, just as well. That doll had a close shave. Narrowly escaped the skip. And it’s just the type of doll you had in mind. She’s getting a second lease of life. Lucky! Especially for Da, that mizer.
Then there was your special eat-what-you-want dinner.
Yeah, I know, a fitness special, Jane Fonda certified pizza and chips. Lovely bird she was Jane Fonda. I remember her in her tight tight leopard in the fitness videos in the 80s. Them were the days…
And then there was the cake, and the candles, and the sparklers, and the birthday song with your eedjit brothers.
And on Saturday it will be your party with your palls. Bowling and Freddy’s Rocket.
And… but jayzus, you must be knackered.
Off you go. Climb up to the lofty heights of your bunk bed and sleep tight.
You are the best eight year old ever.
Psst. Lemme tell you one last thing: your Ma and Da love your very much.
Psst. One very last thing… And me I love to watch your ma hoovering in the living room in the nip.
Pity it happens so rarely…
Today we grabbed a bargain.
In my fluffy arse we did…
30 minutes assembly for 2 persons, the poorly printed assembly leaflet said.
In my fluffy arse… 4 hours it took us! (not taking into account the clean up time and telephone calls to divorce lawyers).
And we had to drag in Mimi to help out with the assembly. And she got her thumb crushed between two bits of solid MDF. And there were tears.
And there were multiple
warnings threats that if they valued the skin of their arses, they would never ever try to jump on the shaggin bunk bed. If we were ever to manage to put it together that is.
And then Mrs mememe2U and I managed to put the wonky bottom half on the top of the wonky top half, and it sort of started to look like a bunk bed (a cheap one).
But we were nowhere near crossing the finish line. There was still lots and lots of screwing to do. More than in our 20s and 30s put together.
I now have aching knees, aching back, aching ears (from Mrs mememe2U speaking her mind a touch too loudly) and I even managed to get two blisters in the palm of my right hand.
But to see Mimi’s smile as she climbed to the top bunk with Snowy and Cowy…
It made it all worthwhile.
I’d do it all over again tomorrow.
In my fluffy arse I would…
For weeks, Paddy had planned to take Fionnuala for a romantic evening of maritime vigil, without the kids.
Hand in hand, they would stare at the sea, savouring every minute of isolation from the rest of society.
This was costing him a small fortune in baby-sitting fees, but it was well worth the peace and tranquillity of this secluded little spot, known only to them both, which had seen many frisky escapades in their younger, childless days.
Amid the gentle sound of the waves, he could almost hear Fionnuala’s heart beating in unison with his.
Of gorse some eedjit and his loud, obnoxious kids had to turn up and ruined the whole thing.