I like lists. I made one last week using a sheet of headed paper the government sent me, a carpenter’s pencil I found behind my ear and a Robert Roberts coffee stain. You can try this at home yourself. Use a tea stain if you want. Or a biro. The choice is yours.

First on my list - the garden centre. Howya getting on, Breda? I need a television plant. [Blank silent stare]

Maybe I should explain. Maybe you should. Right. I have this big TV wall bracket thing and I want something to put on it. It looks very bare. I was considering a plant. Did you consider a TV, Primal? I did for years but now I ‘d prefer looking at a plant. I might be killing the sale here, but did you consider taking down the bracket? The wall would have to come with it. I like having the wall there for hanging things on. Like TV brackets? Yeah. If I ever get a second plant, I’d need a second bracket wouldn’t I.

Next on the list - the post office in the local shop. Can I have a €50 whatchamacallit, a Musketeer voucher please? A what? The vouchers that you can use in any shop. Oh, an All-for-One voucher. There you go. That’ll be €52 please. What? €50 worth of stuff costs €52? That’s scary. I’m afraid so, Primal. Is there anything else I can frighten you with?

Actually there is. This. That’s your shopping list, Primal. Look again. A shopping list with a coffee mug stain. Robert Roberts? Yes. Java. Very nice too. But look what it is written on. Ah, a TV Licence renewal reminder. I’ll do you up one now. No! Stop! I don’t want one. You’d better. That’s a 4th reminder. They’ll be at your door and you’ll be fined for not having one. No I won’t. I don’t have a telly. [Second blank silent stare of the day]

So what do you watch in the evenings? A pot plant. You watch a pot plant. Well not watch really. More look at. The wall-bracket where the telly used be is soon to have a pot plant on it. It’s in the car. How does that work out when you’re having a pint? “Hey lads, anyone watch that aphid last night? Something else huh?” And you won’t get Comfort conditioner in a 2l size here.

Look. Can you just tell them I don’t have a telly? They wouldn’t believe me. Why don’t you just write that on the back of the reminder and send it back to them? Tried that the last three times and it didn’t work. Try it again. Can’t - my shopping list is on the back. Sorry. Can’t help ya, Primal.

Okay. Thanks anyway. Hey, what you mean about the Comfort? I read it on your list. The 750ml is the only size they do here. It’s only a small shop remember. You’ll have to go to the supermarket. So you’re saying this shop is too small for Comfort? Something like that. Anyway, good luck now - there’s a queue behind ya.

It wasn’t on the list so I added it - a pint. The pub was deserted. Suited me fine. I’d read the paper in peace. The barman’s eyes lit up with the prospect of someone to talk to. It wouldn’t be my favourite Mediterranean country but as far as Mediterranean countries go it’s okay. I suppose you’re right, Rob - and I went back to my paper. I see you’re reading the paper there, Primal. Keeping up with current affairs and world news and all that. Well, I’m trying to but someone keeps disturbing me. I suppose it’s all on about the Lisbon thing and all that. Look, Rob. Why don’t you turn on the telly for yourself. Nah, I’m fed up with it. Nothing but racing and soccer and all that. Pity I dropped the car home - I have a grand pot plant in the boot you could be watching. [Third blank stare of the day]

He shuffled off. Finally some Comfort in this town. I checked the telly listings. Sure enough, a gardening programme at 8. I have the best thing in reality TV.*

*I needed ammunition for blank stare number four in case he came back.

Thursday was bitter cold. Bitter as a 70-year-old virgin. The painter’s fingers quickly turned a Smurf blue as he put masking tape on the windows. I helped as best I could with coaching and encouragement - Another one down, Lar. You’re motoring now. I’m sure he appreciated my assistance though he never said. Must be the silent type I suppose.

~~~~~

He got something in his eye and spent Friday at the hospital. His wife came though. She owns a cleaning company and offered to have the place scrubbed down in lieu of a house-warming gift. That’s a bit of a misnomer seeing as it isn’t a new house, just an extension to an old one. So strictly speaking her services were in lieu of an extension-warming gift. But that sounds like something you’d buy on eBay and hope the postman wouldn’t (mis)read the customs label.

I checked on her at lunchtime. We’re flying, Primal. The windows were a curse though - took hours - them fekin builders never took the tape off them. I suggested she let Lar know that - he’d be very interested. I got a quizzical look. Ok. I was going to call anyway to see how he was getting on with the eye. I made a hasty exit.

~~~~~

The cat turned up on Saturday after a three week absence. He was barely able to walk. Puss (appropriately for a cat) was oozing from a wound on its throat. Obviously there had been a fight and he’d lost and had been lying in a ditch somewhere. Now I hate cats, but I felt sorry for it. Something had to be done.

I called the vet. White male - approximately 3 years old - gangland victim - heavy discharge from infected wound on neck - deep laceration to left foreleg - dehydrated - impaired mobility - possible euthanasia candidate. Okay, Mr. Sneeze. You’d better bring him in. What’s his name? Name? I don’t know. He’s a stray then? No. He was one of three white sibs - Disclaimer, Terms and Conditions. Two died from trafficitis. I could never tell one from the other. Trafficitis? Yeah. Severe trauma to the torso caused by pneumatic tyres on heavy goods vehicles. I see. So what name will I put in the computer? Anonycat. What? Well it’d be stupid to call it Anonymouse.

~~~~~

Nervy Neighbour wanted to have a chat. He was having trouble with Nasty Neighbour again. We could have a pint. Pints are great catalysts for sorting out the woes of the world.

The pub was buzzing but not a barhound in sight. We stood there playing spot-the-barman. One bustled in all hot and bothered. The soccer? The soccer is it? Room down the hall there. Eh, no we w… Oh, the rugby. On in the lounge. No, we ju… Yee’re grand then - the racing’s on here. NO! We just want two fekin pints, ya tool!

That Irish publicans are more interested in sport than drink was another woe we added to the world’s ever growing list.

We hadn’t even gotten to start on the list when Strange Fellow plopped himself down between us. Know anything about car seats, lads? Are you giving up the window cleaning business and going into car valeting? No I am not. I bought a car. An 06 Saab. Well fair play to ya. After years riding around on the bike it’ll be great comfort. So what’s wrong with the seats? I can’t fit me ladders in. I’ll have to take out the seats. Do yee know how ya do that?

~~~~~

I’ve been needing two RJ-45 connectors to finish networking the office. Two lousy pins. Do you think I could get them? Not a hope in Hades. The so-called geeks in PC World never heard of them. I didn’t mind the blank looks from the staff in the hardware stores, but in PC World - com’on lads, get your act together. A local electrical supplies shop, Wesco, had them. 50c each. I suggested the guy behind the counter perform a sexual act on his own person if he thought I would pay 50c for something worth about 15c. I am a man of principle after all. Bad language, but principle. Principally bad language.

I could get them from an Irish online supplier, Komplett. €2 for a 10 pack. Excellent. €13 postage. Shite. They could perform the same act.

Maplin in Blanchardstown had them at a reasonable price, but I would join the folks at Wesco and Komplett in their new pastime if I was driving all that way just for two pins.

Would I go to Argos on Sunday morning and collect stuff? Ok. Maplin is near there so I could get the RJ-45 connectors. Men are from Maplin, women are from Argos. Fact. The women in my life happily spend hours poring over the Argos catalogue - I get as excited as a hungry baby in a topless bar with the Maplin catalogue in front of me.

But letting me loose in an electronics store is as dangerous as letting a woman loose [double checks order of those words] in Macys at sales time. I came home with a cordless screwdriver, a network tester, a solar-powered battery charger, a watch case opener and a simcard reader. All of which I will probably never use. Unlike the RJ-45 pins which I will. Or would have used, if I hadn’t left them behind on the counter.

~~~~~

Today is the day we celebrate St. Patrick driving the snakes up ladders without passing go or something like that. Maybe it’s the time he went camping with Tara and he lit a fire to cook shamrock while she played with his crozier. I’m not really sure any more. Sometimes I get mixed up between the St. Patrick’s Day we have in Ireland and the St. Patty’s Day they celebrate in America.

All I know is that I am to drink pints today as required by law. They will be black ones as they always are. I will wear jeans. They will be blue ones as they always are. I will express my wish that a friend be happy. I will say happy birthday to her as I always do on March 17.

It’s a bank holiday. Our national day. No one else’s. What could possibly go wrong?

It was cold wet windy night. The forecast was for gales and flooding. The kind of night when sensible people lock their doors, pull the curtains and sit warming themselves in the glow of a flickering TV.

Not me. I had to go out. I’d arranged to meet someone at precisely some time between 7:15 and 8:00. But how? There would be drink involved so I couldn’t take the car. And I flatly refuse to use taxis since they tried convince us the national maximum fare was a minimum. I thought of my local publican.

Now Con has a reputation for being, shall we say, less than generous. It is said the crows flying over his house bring packed lunches. It is said he hates breathing out. It is said he owes himself money. It is said if he owned the Alps he wouldn’t give you a slide.

But I tried anyway. Good man, Con. Are you working tonight? I’m finishing at 7:00. Any chance you’d be able to pick me up after that and drop me to the pub? I have to meet a lad and it’s kind of important. He grumbled a bit but agreed.

The following morning, through the haze induced by the barrel of his beer still bubbling around in my belly, I seen him at the shop. Ah Con. Thanks for the lift last night. You were a lifesaver. He muttered something about the money he’d made out of me wouldn’t have covered the petrol he used. Ah me bollix, says I, if it weren’t for us making up the crowd the bar last night would’ve been as empty as Dáil Éireann outside of budget day.

Back home, the builders gave me a small can of petrol and I decanted a couple of hundred mil into an old medicine bottle. I knocked up a new label on the computer, put it in a box and wrapped it with left over Christmas paper. I dropped it off to him in the pub that afternoon saying that’s just a little thank-you for yesterday.

I left before he opened it but I have no doubt the contents are in his car by now, the bottle put away safely and the wrapping saved for next December. He may have managed to salvage some of the sellotape too.

Warning: Not for the weak of stomach

I was up to my eyeballs yesterday what with making a shopping list, reading blogs and generally avoiding work when the mobile rang. I grunted my displeasure and frowned at it, but being a cheap Huawei import it has difficulty understanding western social norms and kept ringing. I had to answer it. It was Kathy inviting me out to lunch. Well that was okay then. Very pleasant in fact. As we all know, doing lunch is a 100% legitimate excuse to avoid work. And of course she would have the wee man, Oisín, with her. At just 3½ months old he’s already becoming an individual in his own right with his likes and dislikes, big gummy smiles, eyes that follow everything that moves, little fisted hands that rub his eyes when tired. Mighty craic all together.

Now those of you who are mums or dads will know that the SAS, climbers on Everest and Arctic explorers have it easy - they have damn all supplies and equipment to carry compared to the parent of a baby. When picking a lunch venue you need one with space. Preferably big couches to rest the baby-carrier or to lay the child down on and room for bag(s) with nappies, wipes, creams, soothers, bottles, spare bibs, clothes, shovels, rakes and implements of destruction. The list is endless.

I was commended on my choice. It ticked all the boxes apparently. We chatted away over a lovely lunch all the while being checked on by the staff who were really making up excuses to ooh and aah at Oisín. It never ceases to amaze me how people, even the grumpiest of old men, turn into blubbering idiots in the presence of a baby.

Coffees arrived and an unrequested jug of hot water in case we needed to warm a bottle. Which we did. I was impressed with the service.

I fed himself while Kathy slipped to the loo. On her return she moaned that they were tiny with no room next the wash hand basins to comfortably, or safely, change a child and obviously no fold down contraption for the job. Then inspiration hit her - a quick check and his nappy was just damp. I’ll slip a new one on discretely where we are. That’s a runner, I figured. The crowd had all gone and we were in an alcove hidden from view.

Just as the fresh one was being slipped on there was an almighty explosion and the proverbial hit the fan. Well not totally true. It hit everything except the fan as there wasn’t one. But it would have if there was. Now I’ve had the hottest curries in my day and ended up with an arse like the Japanese flag, but never like this. Good f*ck! This happens once a day, explained Kathy. Like clockwork at 4 in the afternoon. It must have come early as he’s on extra feed since today.

Just then I noticed, well more sensed, one of the staff approaching. I jumped up on my hind legs and intercepted him. Ah, there ya are now, Derek. Ya have the bill with ya. Good man, I’ll get ya on the way back. Just have to nip to the mens. I hovered at the door for a minute or two then returned. Kathy gave me the Iarnród Éireann line - we’re not there yet, but we’re getting there.

Derek was making his way over again. With a cloth in his hand. I grabbed the coffee mugs, pulled a wipe from the baby bag, cleared down the table and made intercept number two. There ya go now, Derek. All done.

Ah thanks, Primal. There’s a job here for ya any day. Want to settle up now? I stalled and made like I couldn’t find the bill. He ran off a copy. I glanced at Kathy shaking her head vigorously. It looked like Oisín was sorted and she was working on the (luckily PVC) couch. Oh, I think this isn’t right. We didn’t have coffees did we? Derek looked at me sideways. But shur you just handed me the empties. Bad stall, Primal - 1 out of 10 - must work harder. I glanced at Kathy now sitting back looking flushed but smiling. Or trying to. Oh, yeah we did. Yer right. I paid and we left.

At the car she remembered her handbag. I went back in. Derek met with it at the door. It must be something in the air today, Primal. You forgot the coffees. Her ladyship forgot her bag. And I forgot to tell ya we have a new baby changing room down the hallway.

- Primally wimally woo.

- What? What now?

- Nothin’. Just looking at the back of your paper. What’s a Sarko?

- Eh, Nicolas Sarkozy is the new president of France. Now go away - I’m reading the front of my paper. If you’d stop talking just for the sake of making noise, I’d get to read the rest of it.

- Oh, grumpy woompy woo today aren’t we. You’d no problem putting down your paper to talk to her earlier on.

- Did it ever cross your mind she might have something to say that’s worth hearing?

- Yeah, right. What would she have to talk about? All she sees is this place day in day out. And anyway, her English is shite.

- Her English is improving rapidly. Her French is good. Her Russian excellent. Best of all, her German is fluent, so if we’re having difficulty we switch to that. She has a masters in economics and European trade and has been accepted for a Ph.D. The money she’ll make here will help a lot with that. She is a qualified showjumping instructor and competed at international level. She makes great pottery and takes brilliant photographs. She is a self-taught web designer. She has read books I struggled with. She has travelled more than I have. You, on the other hand, are a full-time shop assistant and part-time bar worker and have never done anything else. You look at the pictures in Hello magazine and go to the Canaries once a year. No contest!

- It’s just because she’s pretty.

- Oh, yee gods, give me patience! This is déjà moo.*

- It’s just because you fancy her. You’re trying to get into her knickers.

- Hardly. I’m nearly old enough to be her father.

- She’s not that hot anyway. I’ve got bigger boobs.

- True. And a bigger ego. Pity your IQ doesn’t pass the double-A mark.

- Men! Yee’re all the same. Yez treat women like meat. Tits and arse is all yee think about.

- Well what I’m thinking about right now, is that you should get your tits off the counter, your arse in gear, go do some work and let me finish my paper before it turns into yesterday’s.

* The feeling you’ve heard this bullshite before.

Has anyone else noticed how many Irish people drop the four or five foreign words they remember from school into conversations with foreigners? And have you noticed they are always in the wrong language? A German will get bonjour and gracias. A Spaniard will get guten tag and merci. A Frenchman will get hola and danke. Latvian, Lithuanian, Polish - well, they get all of the above and maybe a go raibh maith agat thrown in.

In fairness, the Polish, being here in such numbers, do a little better. They get a cześć sometimes. If it weren’t pronounced chest, it would count as the sole occasion the correct language is used.

I think the Polish barman in my local has gotten used to it now. He’s stopped wetting himself every time a customer says danke. Although it may be due to the owner’s policy that the floor remain dry for safety reasons. I’ll get back to you on this.

Noel was in the pub on Saturday. Now Noel is not one for reading beyond the soccer headlines. His favourite joke is the one about the similarity between a battery and a woman’s butt. (It was funny the first time). He has his talents though - he can wire a plug in 6 seconds flat. Which is a useful skill given that he’s an electrician. He can also do the crossword in The Mirror in less than two hours. That is despite filling in stool for item used by an artist and heffer for young female cow, he manages to make everything fit.

Tadek held his water that afternoon although Noel insisted on paying for his pints with a cheery danke schön, das ist gut. Actually, it was more like tankie shoon, das ist good.

Pubs are like crèches - the conversation can switch from one subject to another in milliseconds for no apparent reason. Someone mentioned Cadbury’s Cream Eggs which led to Ireland’s entry in the Eurovision - They Can’t Stop The Spring, to be performed (in capital letters it would seem) by Dervish. Noel was in his element now. He knows all about Dervish and with beaming pride he explained to Tadek that he shouldn’t worry if he couldn’t understand the lyrics. They are in Irish and no-one, not even the Irish understand them.

Poor Noel not only has a problem with foreign languages, he also seems to have difficulty with the two spoken on this island.