This blog entry is crimes and misdemeanour’s by proxy; I want to share this with you to give you some insight into the way the Northern Irish mindset works. It may outrage a few readers but what the hell, it’s how we view life.
I have a good friend from Northern Ireland, I’m going to call her Mary for the sake of this blog and she’s a bit of a wild girl. She’s been doing the whole on-line dating thang and been telling me about it. She arranged to meet one bloke at a bar a while back and when he came in and introduced himself she simply looked at him and left, didn’t even say hello to him. She told me what a fucker, he looked nothing like his photos, he was shorter – MUCH shorter than he said, older, fatter and just slimy so she couldn’t even be bothered wasting her breath telling him was a fuck-wit he was, she just left in a huge strop. She went into a bar near Leicester Square and proceeded to get totally plastered with a bunch of young guys there and next thing she knew she was waking up Sunday morning in some strange bed with a complete stranger beside her.
He was about half her age and as she stumbled blindly into her clothes – actually as she searched around the apartment for her clothes he woke up and said to her can he see her again. She said back to him “that’s EXACTLY the right thing to say to a woman after last night, well done!” and then as she was walking out the door she said “of course you need to get yourself a girlfriend of about half my age but thank you for last night and good luck, have a nice life” and she walked out of his life.
So the night wasn’t a waste after all and she had a good time.
Then a few weeks later she went out to meet some other date in central London, this time she managed to stay there for a whole 10 minutes before walking away, I asked why and she said “the fuck-wit spent the first 10 minutes telling me about why he and his missus had split up, instead of talking about me or even himself, I met his wife by proxy, I wasn’t having any of that and I walked, little fucking bastard wasting my time..!”
So she hit another bar, and got plastered but there was no talent around so she got on the tube back home. However, on the tube back there was this bloke checking her out. Thirty minutes later she’s in his flat in Streatham and he’s playing hide the sausage with her. Next morning he’s comatosed and she walks..staggers out and calls me on the mobile. “I don’t know where I am..” I ask her to give me a street name..she does and I google-map it, she’s in Streatham and I tell her which way to the train station and I go back asleep.
Four nights later she’s at my place having dinner with my erstwhile part-time flatmate and myself and drinking + + wine. She’s having a good time chatting away and by 11 we are both bushed so I tell her I’ll walk her to the bus stop as that’s how she usually goes home from my place when we’ve had a few skinfuls. So we are waiting for the bus but in the fresh air she’s suddenly come alive again and raring to go. “Hey! Let’s go to a bar and pick up some talent and par-tay…!!” I says nope, I can hardly keep my eyes open, I’m zombie-fied and need to zzzZZZ but she’s raring to go and says “I know what, I’ll go see that bloke from Saturday night in Streatham..” and gets her mobile out.
She calls him and says “Where are you?”
He says it’s 11:30pm, he’s in bed..
She says “Stay there..I’m on my way around…”
And hangs up
And then calls him back.
“btw, what’s your address…?”
And off she goes towards the taxi rank.
I wait for the taxi with her and says to her so what does this bloke look like and she says, to be honest I don’t know, I can’t actually remember, all I can vaguely remember is that he had funny eyes, I think he was Chinese…maybe .. and I’m curious to find out when I’m (relatively) sober..
The taxi arrives and off she goes.. I shake my head and go back to the flat.
A few days later she pitches up…so how did it go I ask..?
She sits there and tells me it was awful and I ask why.
“Well, I got there and we got down to the dirty deed right away, was good and we fell asleep afterwards, then at about 3am I woke him up and we did it again and fell asleep again. Then at 7am I woke up and had to go home to get clean knickers before going to work but before I went I poked him in the back, woke him up because he was snoring and asked him if he would like to do it again, ..and do you know what he said…he said no, he was too tired!!! Well, that was it, I exploded, I called him all the names under the sun and give him an ear-full! THAT was NOT the right thing to say, HOW DARE HE!! If a woman offers herself then he HAS to oblige and do the dirty deed, how DARE he refuse” and she cursed and swore at him and called him every dirty name she could think of as she got dressed and he cowered under the duvet not knowing what a screaming dervish he had let into his apartment. Eventually when she had insulted his manhood enough she went storming out of his flat into the street in a huge strop but five minutes down the road she realised that she had left her mobile on his bedside table! So what does she do? Well, she does the one thing all Northern Irish woman would do, she stomps right back, rings the doorbell, bold as brass! He opens the door and almost shits a brick at seeing her again, she stomps BACK into the apartment berating him again but even worse and grabs her mobile, heads for the door again and practically screams in his face as she leaves again, cursing and swearing at him as she storms off down the block hall.
I suspect he’s going to need a LOT of expensive therapy after that and when you think about it I reckon Mary has done a lot of woman a service because I doubt he’ll ever pick up a strange woman on the tube ever again.
Now you see, I’m tell you all this for two reasons, the first reason is that by Northern Irish standards I am actually very ummm ..subdued, I try telling my work colleagues this and they all snort and say that’s just bollocks and shake their heads as I am easily the most crazy one in the University and the only one who’s got the balls to take on …well everyone.
But the other reason is deeper and it’s a cultural thing, you see, if I had some depth then I’d think that life was all about learning lessons, growing through mistakes and probably knowing God or the Creator or some other bollocks, however, whilst this is true for folk with some depth, for folk with real depth ie the Northern Irish, we know that the purpose of life is not just that but the real purpose of life is to be happy and have a HUGE amount of fun doing it. So, this is how we Northern Irish view life, we don’t keep it at arm’s length, nope, we grab it, we hold it tightly and squeeze as much life out of it as possible. So don’t shout at us or roll your eyes when we go off and do crazy things, we’re simply doing what comes naturally.