27-06-2018, 01:28 PM
7907
Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)
Another local tippler bites the dust.
Some folks couldn’t have friends even if they knew how to change water into wine. Nicky Roach (not his real name) is one of them.
He sits up at the bar in the local, way down the end of it all by himself. His daily routine is to arrive at 12.30pm with the Irish Times newspaper and plonk himself there, he goes through the paper with his gimlet eye trying to find ammunition for argument, trouble is everyone is wise to him and he has no one to argue with. He’s left like a primed bomb waiting on some poor unfortunate stranger to sit near him and then he will explode into political comments followed by his personal extreme right wing opinions.
For some reason of which nobody knows bar himself he’ll leave at 3.pm exactly having consumed a bowl of soup, a toasted cheese sandwich, and three gin and tonics, you could set your watch by him. The barmen on duty try their best to avoid conversation with him because all he will talk about is politics, nothing else mind you, just politics, trying to steer him off politics is like trying to put up an umbrella in a hurricane, you haven’t got a prayer.
According to his ultra right beliefs he could sort out all the problems in the world today if he was in charge, all unemployed people are just lazy scum to his mind, thank God he doesn’t hold political office, although he tried for local office on the council in his younger days and actually got 3 votes, we all knew who the 3 votes were from.
The gang of old lads I sit with gave up asking him to sit in on our domino games long ago,”All games are a complete waste of time” according to him, he doesn’t get invited anymore to the Summer outing or the Christmas party run by the management, he is barred because he always starts political arguments on the bus or in the hotel.
I scribbled that post set in the present tense a few weeks ago and then forgot all about it as I often do lately.
Well God rest his soul, he was buried this morning, all that tension couldn’t be good for anyone, he was 78, I would never speak ill of the dead but me heart bleeds for whoever gets him, be it St. Peter or nick the devil himself.
“Somebody’s knocking at the doo-er
Somebody’s ringing on the bell
Do us a favour, let him in... and keep him in”