Wrinkly Paddy gave me a call this morning.
Hi. I’m in town for the Bank Holiday weekend. Fancy a pint?
Certainly, I said, but what exactly do you mean by “Bank Holiday”? Surely you mean Thieving Parasitic Bastard Holiday?
I do indeed, said Wrinkly Paddy, and I thank you for the reminder.
You’re welcome, I replied.
I’ll collect you, he said.
Even better, I assured him.
Isn’t it lucky we’re not religious? Paddy mused as the bar person handed over two creamy new friends.
Why’s that, Pat?
Well, I was thinking about what you said.
The Thieving Parasitic Bastard Holiday.
What about it?
Well, if we were religious, we’d have to celebrate all those Power-Mad Pervert Motherfucker Holidays as well.
Like Christmas? I asked.
Glug-glug, he nodded, slurping back his gleaming black pint and wiping his mouth with a small dog. And Easter.
Stop that! I barked.
Put down my pet, I said.
Oh, sorry, Wrinkly Paddy dropped the snarling animal. I must have picked him up by accident. I was abused as a child you know. It gave me ADHD.
By a priest? I believe some of them would bone you up the arse.
No. A banker.
Fuck, I said. In that case, you definitely got boned up the arse.
Yeah, Paddy grunted. It was awful.
It could have been worse, I reassured him.
Paddy stared at me, appalled. How the fuck could it have been worse?
Well, I ventured, it could have been the Vatican Bank. Imagine the state of your arse after that.
Fuck, said Paddy, I didn’t think of that. Good job there isn’t a Vatican Bank Holiday.
No indeed, I agreed. A Thieving Parasitic Bastard Power-Mad Pervert Motherfucker Holiday would be hard going. Let’s have another pint. Did you see the match?