Traditional fish-net tights

I wandered into town this morning, as is my habit. I like to stroll around the market, buy a dozen eggs, a few bunches of daffodils this time of year, maybe some cocaine from the Irish Hand-Grown Narcotics stall. The market is great. It has a really nice old-town feel to it, as if nothing has altered there in a thousand years. Sometimes, after a particularly violent week, I’ll stop off at Nederlande Bullets to buy a thousand or two Hydro-Shoks from Henk, the traditional Dutch weapons-seller. Good old Henk always has a kind word for everyone, and he’ll always throw in a bit extra. Perhaps a couple of grenades or a bag of skunk-weed – a small thing, maybe, but important in this rushing-around world we live in. Years ago, I bought my young son his first kukri from an old trader who travelled there every week from Bhutan. Tong Au, his name was and I can still remember him on his huge, brick-sized traditional Bhutanese mobile phone:

No, you fool. The name is Au! Au!! A for apple, U for uncle! Au!!

Ah, what a good old soul he was. Well I remember how, every Saturday afternoon, he’d begin his trek back to the Himalayas.

Mind how you go there, Tong, we’d say.

And he’d reply, See you next week!

It’s great. After buying weapons or an exotic animal for slaughter, I might stop in to Nancy Blake’s pub, for a coffee, or a dozen pints of Guinness, or maybe three bottles of whiskey.

Hello, I might say. Can I have a coffee, a dozen pints of Guinness and three bottles of whiskey, please?

Certainly, they’ll reply. Anything else with that?

And I’ll say, Ah, no thanks, Love. Sure, aren’t I driving home in a while?

That’s where I went today, to examine my latest purchase: a Barrett Light Fifty rifle that I picked up at Dave’s second-hand sniper-weapons stall. It was missing its stand, so I got it cheap. Dave didn’t want to take it all the way back to the Kerry Gaeltacht again in case his brother Festy shoots down another aeroplane and you could understand his concern. I bought the rifle and a DeWalt drill from him for two hundred, which wasn’t bad, I thought.

Gerry the axe-murderer was in Nancy’s, finishing the sudoku.

Howya, Gerry, I greeted him.

Not great, he replied. I can’t finish this fuckin puzzle and I don’t know where to buy fish-net tights.

Jesus, Gerry, I can’t help you there, I replied. If it isn’t prying too much, could I, would it be possible, can you, ah – why are you – ?

Buying fish-net tights? he asked.

Precisely, I said.

Simple, he said. The Rocky Horror Show is in the Belltable tonight, and I want to fit in with the crowd.

Well, Gerry, I said, I don’t know about you fitting in with the Rocky Horror crowd. You’re a bit weird.

True, he agreed.

Tell you what, though, I offered. I have this sniper rifle and a thousand bullets. That any good?

Grand, said Gerry. Thanks. Pint?


7 replies on “Traditional fish-net tights”

I see you’ve met my faithful handiman….

Sigh. Rocky Horror was grand fun for a while.

Enjoy your three bottles of whiskey and your fresh cocaine.

Bock, tell your mate that he can get fish-net tights from the Co. Limerick fella selling carrots across the road from where Kelly’s book-shop used to be. And if he’s out of fish-net tights or carrots, that’s OK cause “Colum will have them inside”. The milk market has its charm but it’s getting scarce, at an identical rate to the increasing prices of organic vegetables and eggs. (Do you remember Dinny in Glenroe buying a dozen eggs in Dunnes Stores and then plastering them with muck, before he sold them on as free range in the Bray market) I’d like to know where the market ombudsperson is earning his /her shilling, cause some of them traders down there are robbing bastards. Nuala O’Loan might come on down and throw her eye over the rampant corruption.


Mad for the auld firesticks aren’t ye? When you’re over I’ll take you shopping and we’ll get the auld compound kitted out.
You did creep me out a bit though because on Saturday I was doing a bit of shopping and picked up some fishnets AND a box of Hydra-Shoks.Picture to follow.(honest)

Damn you lead an interesting life. Twenty Major is the kind of little tyke who might have worked as your apprentice.

sassy: they’re gone. I’ll have to wait till next Saturday’s market for more.

maroon: not a single word of a lie

eddie: call any time. Bring a monkey and a set of chimney rods.

devin: well, there’s no way of surviving here in war-torn Limerick without a full arsenal. And a urinal as well.

mr bananas: Yes. I remember him well, little FiveWoodbine, as we used to call him. A promising little chap. I wonder what he’s doing these days?

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