A History Of Great Mistakes

The luck of the Irish – pt 6
March 9, 2009, 11:30 pm
Filed under: Dublin | Tags: , , , , ,

(Stop stop stop! Backup there fella! If you’re new to the site, chances are you haven’t read part 1, 2, 3, 4 or 5 yet – be sure to read them first – the below will be so much better if you do…!)

I sank into my seat and stared at her as she approached the bar.

Her beauty was comparable to a crisp summer’s morning, radiant but slightly chilling. I had to find some way to attract her attention before my confidence faltered.

I swiveled the chair round to face Lewis and Gez, who were pretending to fly next to the window. My stomach churned again. I turned back.

‘How can I get her attention…?’ I asked myself, looking at the world with a MacGuyver-esqe slant. My eyes scanned the small table next to me. I spotted Lewis’ wallet, three spots of Guinness, a half empty glass and Gez’s backpack (clipped around the table for security).

‘If I can just hook the arm of the backpack… I can bring the table closer to me, slowly reach down to grab the half drunk pint, and try to catch her eye…’

My foot reached for the backpack’s dangling arm, and on the third attempt – I hooked into the strap.

Slowly, I began to pull the table towards me. Going too fast would have made me spill the drink, but going too slow could have meant her leaving before my grand entrance.

It was a precise art – but as it was only an inch away, I felt confident I’d succeeded in getting the timing just right.

Then one of her bumbling friends walked by me to look out of the window.

I say bumbling in an uncomplimentary manner because as she walked, she accidentally knocked the arm of a man by the bar, elbowed a girl in the ribs – and most importantly kicked the table I was moving – setting in motion a most unfortunate series of events.

The table jolted forwards, and with it, the half empty glass.

Instinctively, I quickly moved forwards to grab the glass, but missed.

The glass ‘bounced’ slightly on the table and ejected its contents onto the crotch of my jeans.

“AHHH! COLD!” I shouted, flinging myself back into the seat as Lewis and Gez sat down next to me.

I clutched the seat arms and looked up.

A room full of people stared back at me.

The angelic lady looked at my face, then my crotch, then my face again, and began to laugh.

Half the room joined her.

“Lads – I want to go now” I said, closing my eyes.

It may as well have been a rope bridge for all I cared

It may as well have been a rope bridge for all I cared

As we walked back towards the bus stop, Gez and Lewis cackled like hyenas.

“Mate… Best fail ever…” said Gez, patting me on the back.

Lewis turned to me as if to offer some words of comfort, but took one look at my crotch and burst out laughing again.

Just before we left, I’d made a quick trip to the gift shop for something to hide the damp patch.

In my haste, I’d grabbed a golf towel and a rugby top to cover the watermark on my jeans and replace the t-shirt I was wearing (which had also caught some ‘splash damage‘, and now smelt like – well – exactly where we were, the inside of a brewery).

As it happened, the top I’d chosen seemed to accentuate the patch instead of hiding it, almost directing the eye towards the dark blue embarrassment in between my legs. This, unfortunately, left me with no other alternative than to tuck the golf towel into the front of my jeans.

I traveled around Dublin for an hour looking like an extra from Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat, a mess of different types of clothes and colours, before the patch was no longer visible. It still stank though.

When we decided to head back and get changed to go out later in the evening – I was a very happy man. Although Guinness is a lovely drink, having your crotch smell of it for a few hours will turn you right off the stuff. ‘Perhaps the genius idea of bottling a designer Irish brewery scent, isn’t quite so genius after all’ I mused to myself.

As sod’s law would have it, the bus dropped us off on the opposite side of the motorway to the campsite, and I had to face my second man made (vertigo inducing) structure of the day.

The thin, wet, metal motorway bridge.

When we’d been traveling back, there had been a small downpour that had created several tiny little rainbows, each (no doubt) with gold encrusted leprechauns at the end of them.

Lewis and I had loved the sight of so many in one field to the left of us, but Gez had been less impressed, choosing instead to look out of the other window – towards the direction of our rural pub from the evening before.

We knew he was running over ‘should I’ and ‘what if’ questions in his head. And most probably he was mentally running over the seam of her tights too.

I took a few cautious steps towards the bridge, and I felt my legs begin to buckle. Closing my eyes, I grabbed hold of Lewis’ shoulder and walked across the bridge, terrified. Coming to the other side, I scampered down the stairs and bolted towards the gravel path leading back towards our camp site.

Dragging my other jeans out of my bag, I quickly rifled through my possessions are created a makeshift inventory:

  • Three pairs of jeans (one now requiring a wash);
  • Four t-shirts (one also requiring a wash);
  • One smart shirt;
  • Two towels (one beach – wet, one golf – dry);
  • A brand new rugby shirt (that I was becoming quite fond of);
  • Several pairs of socks;
  • Plenty of boxer shorts;
  • One pair of causal / smart shoes;
  • Half a bottle of Lynx deodorant, and;
  • A box of condoms.

A small bit of mental ‘acceptable body odour‘ calculating later, I suggested a shopping trip as an item for the following morning.

Taking the bus back into town after changing, we spotted advertisements for a friendly Ireland vs Australia football match later in the week.

“We’ll have to find a bar with Sky to give that a watch on Tuesday” I said to the lads.

“Definitely – grab a few beers and our put our feet up I reckon!” agreed Lewis as we arrived at O’Connell Bridge again. “But first – where to now?”

We wandered up and down the Temple Bar strip, meeting the strange people of Dublin’s sidewalks and taking every opportunity to peer through windows and check out bars to plan the week ahead. Stopping in a Sports Bar, we sat down, grabbed a few Budweisers and ordered ourselves some dinner.

Steak and chips was the dish of the day for all of us – and soon after our meals arrived, we tore them to pieces and devoured all but the plates and cutlery. As you can probably guess, our chosen Sports Bar did an excellent steak.

Exiting the bar more than a little stuffed, we headed towards a nightclub that Lewis had spotted earlier in the day. Waiting patiently in the queue, we were anything but happy when Gez and I were declined entry for wearing ‘sporting apparel’.

Neither of us understood why a Newcastle shirt and a Guinness rugby top would cause offense in the heart of Ireland, but we turned away nonetheless (admittedly after a stunted ‘conversation’ with a bulky balding doorman).

“Back to the Sports Bar I guess” said Gez, heading in that general direction.

Upon arrival, we again waited patiently in a queue to get in (it had become surprisingly busy in the space of a very short time) and found that we were yet again denied entry because of our clothing.

“You are f@$king kidding me” said Gez, looking a greasy little bouncer in the eye. “We were here before. This is a SPORTS bar. SPORTS. Get it? SPORTS.

The bouncer stared Gez in the eye and told him to do something rather unpleasant involving a spatula and no lubricant.

Luckily, Lewis and I saw the look in Gez’s eye and carried him off just as ‘Red Gerwyn‘ began to rear his ugly little head.

“F@£king c@$k sucking f@£king b@$tards!” he shouted as we hurriedly dragged him down a side alley.

Budweiser really doesn’t agree with you does it mate” I said, clutching Gez’s arm ‘just in case’.

“…f@£king SPORTS bar…” grumbled Gez.

And then, from the corner of my eye, the picture of loveliness from earlier reappeared, walking towards Fleet Street.

“Okay – so where to now?” asked Lewis, who was also holding onto Gez’s arm.

“Follow me” I said, watching the the curly haired vixen from afar…


6 Comments so far
Leave a comment

Don’t publish this message:

cue = what you give to someone to let them know they have to do something [e.g. on stage]

queue = a line of people waiting for something [e.g. to get into a bar]

Just thought I’d be your editor for the day 🙂 Enjoyed the entry v.much especially your…erm…crotch incident 😛 Still have yet to click on all the links though to find my boobs…


Comment by Rach

*smacks self on head*

I thought you had to approve of all the messages before they went online?

Comment by Rach

😯 Ohhhhhh… EDITING me now are we…! 😛

(and no no – your messages are set to go up automatically…)

Comment by Pete

Really? You trust me THAT much? *evil grin* Oh I’m going to have so much fun spammi- I mean, commenting on your blog…*ahem* 😉

Comment by Rach

Yeah… I’m totally revoking that privilege now…

Comment by Pete

Dude, I’m not sure whether to laugh at your misery or to save it for the end….lol

Thanks, by the way, for helping us move! It’s a shame you left earlier than planned on sunday, you’d have enjoyed lunch at the cocks. It was amazing and Pete’s steak looked drool worthy.

Thanks, though. The house has been fixed, it’s all nice and warm now and the plumber is coming over on saturday to check things out.

Bed will arrive soonish so you’ll have a comfy spot to sleep in.

Comment by Anjii

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