King of Excellent (according to Scaryduck)

Tuesday, July 26

On surprise visits

TDT had emailed me. Her friend had moved to Germany about a year and a half ago, and had emailed her about coming to visit. So, operation tidy house swung into action. By Friday morning, everything was set for her arrival at lunchtime into the airport. That morning TDT's car decided to play it's trick of having a dodgy accelerator, so we'd spent a couple of hours getting it fixed. Midway through, my mate Martin phoned up.
"My Gran's PC is playing up. Can I call you when I'm there to sort it?"
"Sure, no probs. I'll be in later. Give me a call."
And off we went to the land of Ryanair and Aerlingus. The plane had landed successfully, and as I stood there, I scanned each and every girl with dark hair's face to see if it was TDT's friend. After 20 minutes, I became aware of someone else looking at me.
"Strange," said my brain, "that looks like Martin. Looking at you. And TDT's staring at you as well. And Martin's grinning. Hang on... It is Martin!"
She'd decided to surprise me. I even had to ask if her friend really was coming over (I know, stupid really), but it was all a ploy. Martin was over until Monday, and we were going to have some fun. I, meanwhile, needed a drink. We headed down to one of my favourite pubs, in the next town down. Still shaking, I went to the bar with Martin.
"I have to warn you," I said, "brace yourself for impressive prices."
We ordered two pints, and a bottle of WKD (West Kerry Diesel) Blue. In the UK most pubs would cost between £2-£3 a pint, and maybe a couple of pounds for the WKD Blue. Basically, it should have been about £8 at most. The barmaid returned with our drinks.
"I'll get this," said Martin, offering up a €10 note.
"No, I think I should get the first one." I said, knowingly.
"That'll be €13.90 please" said the barmaid.
"*thud*" said Martin.
We headed home after a couple of drinks, and set up a plan of attack. We had to get a few supplies for dinner, so went to the local shop. Whilst there, again, Martin was knocked sideways.
"I need fags," he said. "how much are 20 Lambert and Butler?"
The girl on the till scans a pack. "€7.75" she exclaims
"How fuckin' much???" he screams. "I better get 40 then."
What he didn't know is that in Ireland cigarettes are the same price everywhere. Pubs, corner shops and supermarkets all charge the same price, unlike the UK where you can pay a lot more in one place compared to another.
That evening, we headed to the Magpie. A few people were there, but it was a quiet night. By midnight we'd broken out the cocktails. Lucky charm (I think it was, I'm sure I'll be corrected if not), was a thick green liquor. TDT compared it to drinking seaweed, but it wasn't that bad at all. Then Tasha (the barmaid) gave me and Martin an Erection. Jagermeister and Aftershock, again, it wasn't bad. Baby guinnesses were also dished out, but my aversion to coffee meant I had to skip it. So, I treated them to a knockback, a drink I haven't had for nearly 20 years. Malibu and southern comfort, it supposedly multiplies what you drink by 2, so you can get very drunk, very quickly. Martin sniffed it, and passed. TDT downed it, and promptly relegated it to the nearest toilet. Charlotte, our neighbour, had two. We all agreed we'd lay off the shots and returned to our slightly boring but reliable tipples. Meanwhile, Martin had started singing (!). We eventually left the wrong side of 3:30 with everyone and came home for a game or two of Buzz (which I won...). TDT fell asleep in the chair (again), Martin passed out (the poor sod had been up over 24 hours), I went to bed, and TDT finally joined me just before 12 noon.
The next day we went to see Father Ted's house (pictures to follow), and did a few other places locally. But, being shattered, we returned home and relaxed before going out a second night in a row. No shots this time, it was a pleasant evening, and we sat out until gone 1am in the beer garden, just having a hoot with stories of mirth and woe, and Martin mooning everyone to show his new tattoos. Again, he started singing. I have to say, this time was a lot murkier in my memory. I was actually quite drunk, and found myself joining in with him at one point, something that's never happened before(!). Again we left the wrong side of half 3 (TDT always insists on being the last out), and again returned home to games of Buzz (which I also won...). I retired about 4.30-5ish, apparently they finished about 6:30.
Rising fairly early (about 11ish) we agreed we'd take Martin for lunch in a pub I took my father when he was over, and then to the Cliffs of Moher. We had a pleasant lunch and headed up the coast, stopping en route to get a pic of Martin on the edge of the Atlantic. As we ascended the hill up to the Cliffs, the low cloud cover came down. Suddenly, we couldn't see Jack shit, Jill shit, Noe shit or any of the Shit-Happens family. There wasn't any point in us paying through the nose to see fog, so we just kept going. We eventually stopped in Lisdoonvarna (home of the matchmaking festival in September), and got souvenirs, before heading home.
That evening, surprise surprise, we went to the pub. Again, we drank too much (OLM, only €3 a pint, result!), but being a Sunday evening, it was early closing. We left just after 2:30.
Martin's flight home was at 10am, so we had to be up about 8. I got up at 7:30, and after unsuccessfully rising TDT at 8, 8:10, 8:20, 8:30, and at 8:35 (now with added "fuck off"), we left her to sleep and headed down to the airport.
The weekend was a roaring success. Both TDT and I have agreed to go Teetotal. We both have the DTs, our body clocks are screwed and Martin's not been heard from since. I have to go now. I have to sort out the kitchen, get rid of 30+ bottles, do the washing up, find the cat, replace the fridge door and fix the tap.