NEW YEAR IN DUBLIN

“Where am I?  Oh, God, who kicked me in the head?  Gerry?  Is that you?”

“Yeh.”

“Who’s that over there?”

“Connor.”

“Jesus, he looks bollocksed.  Why are there bars on the door?”

“Because we’re in jail, Sean.”

“Holy God, what are we doing in jail?”

“Well, for one thing, you shimmied up one of the lampposts on O’Connell’s Bridge, perched yourself on the crossbar, hugged the lamp and started singing, at the top of your lungs, Soldiers are We.”

“I’m up a lamppost singing the bloody national anthem?  I wouldn’t be caught dead singing the thing.  What kind of national anthem starts off with Soldiers are We, anyway?”

“Well, you sang it.  Loudly.  For another, Connor looks like he does because they had to fish him out of the River Liffey.

“What, in Christ’s Name, was Connor doing in the Liffey?

“Some eejit dared him to take a New Year’s swim in it.  So, not to be outdone in the eejit department, he jumps in, only he can’t swim.”

“The eejit jumped into the River Liffey?  Do you know how polluted that water is, Connor?  Do you have a death wish?  What eejit dared you to jump in it?”

“The eejit up the lamppost.”

“Oh, God.  So you go and do it?  Connor you don’t have the brains of a bloody jackass.  You’ll probably glow in the dark now.  Oh, my head.  What day is it?” 

“It’s New Year’s, Sean.  Thanks to you, we’re spending fecking New Year’s in jail.”

“Last thing I remember we were in Riley’s Pub.  Oh, I was talking to Roisin.  Great pair of legs on her.  Did I get laid before I climbed the lamppost?”

“The only thing you got from Roisin was a good smack across the mouth and told to never speak to her again.”

“Jesus, what did I say?”

“You were discussing the various advantages of shagging her face up or face down, except you weren’t in any condition to do either.”

“Oh, God, why didn’t you shut me up?   Yeh, now that you mention it, my jaw does feel a bit tender.   Spirited lass, that Roisin.   I’ll have to marry her now.  So, who got me down from the lamppost?”

“The Gardai.  They had to get the ladder.  You wouldn’t come down on your own.  Half the bloody ladder company was out there on the bridge trying to get you down without falling into the river themselves.” 

“How did the fecking Gardai find out I was up there?”

“Because I called them.”

“Christ, Gerry, you called the Gardai on us?”

“What did you want me to do?  You’re fifty feet in the air shagging a lamppost and Connor here’s in the Liffey going down for the third time.”

“What the hell were we drinking, anyway?”

“We finished off a jar of poteen.”

“Holy shite, I drank poteen?  You could run an oil tanker from here to Alaska on one jar of that stuff.”

“Someone said, here.  It’s just been corked. You must have drunk half the jar.”

“And you let me?  I could have been sent blind.”

“All it did for you, Sean, was send you up a lamppost.  Oh, feck, here comes the Sergeant.  He’s the one had to go up the ladder and drag your Irish arse down.  He was all for throwing you in the Liffey after Connor.  Eh, Happy New Year to you, Sergeant Foley.”

“Good morning, gentlemen.  Looking a big haggard, there, my little bevy of Trinity College geniuses. Good head for heights though, have we, Sean?   There’s a couple of girls here brought you coffee, although why they’d bother with a bunch of staggering drunk donkey’s arses like you lot beats me.  The redhead says you’ll be lucky you don’t get yours in your face, Sean. Says her name’s Roisin. Oh, by the way, the judge’ll be along later to sign the release order.  If he asks you what you were doing up the lamppost, say you don’t remember.  No matter what he asks you, say, I don’t remember, Your Honor.   I wouldn’t say anything else, if I were you or you’ll be here for the next thirty days.  He’s not in a good mood.  A bit haggard himself if truth were told.  Happy New Year.”