Sorry. We’re closed. But we don’t know why.

Next week will be mad busy, says I to meself. Pop down to Little Britain and pick up the doings for a big stew or something that I can knock up quickly and will do me a few days.

And so I proceeded to pop. But I couldn’t do any picking or knocking because Little Britain was closed. Closed as it was Easter Sunday. Why in the name of the wife of the unknown soldier and her seven sniffling sprats would the country’s largest grocery chain close just because it is Easter? The bookies have to close by law - I knew that. Was there a law that shops have to close too? No, there couldn’t be. The small local shop was opened, as was the smaller unlocal one.

But I wasn’t going to do any picking in the small shops. No way was I paying over the odds just for the convenience of a convenience store. Even if the produce was organically grown by Tibetan monks in the arsehole of Longford. Even if it was cheap at half the price or whatever slogan they were using this week. No, I would leave the knocking for another day and take something out of the freezer instead.

Things boded well. The lid of the container had embossed the trademark on the casserole. Well most of the letters anyway. Tub-bits had become T its. Sweet! Now there was food I could look forward to getting lips around.

Frozen food, as any scientist worth their NaCl will tell you, exhibits properties not dissimilar to kettles and pots - it won’t defrost if watched. So the best thing to do was tip out for a couple of pints to pass the time. Tipping out for pints is the best Irish pastime ever.

- Ah how ya getting on, Primal? What’s with ya?

- Not a whole lot. Just defrosting tits for me dinner. Look Left seemed a bit puzzled.

- Right so. I prefer a bit of steak meself, but shur whatever yer having yerself.

- I’ll have a pint so. Thanks. And I scooted out to the jacks before he could say another word.

Returning to the bar I noticed the service gates to the pub were open so being the civic spirited gent that I am I let the barman know.

- Listen, Seán - do ya know your back passage is wide open?

- Thanks, Primal. I’ll close it now before I forget. Last thing we want is a draught upsetting the smokers in the beer garden.

Uproarious laughter from Tony Two Lines, much to the chagrin of Look Left.

- It’s not funny, Tony. That was a major security risk. Anyone could’ve got in. We could have been murdered on our barstools.

Uproarious laughter x 100.

And so continued the giddiness until it was time to return home to room temperature tits. A good day overall. Very enjoyable. I suppose I should thank the folks in Little Britain, but first I want to ask them why they were closed. Why? Why? Why? The Easter Bunny died on the cross so we all could have chocolate eggs. He didn’t die cross so shops could close.