Garry

As I went parading through the village on a St Patrick’s Day solo formation lap of honour, constantly on the lookout for possible threats, I discovered Garry. He runs his own Property Maintenance service and kindly took time out from his present job, fitting a new kitchen, to allow me to take his photo. 

As previously mentioned it’s St Paddy’s Day, wonderful, I think. My Mother lied to me long ago in 1970, days before I joined the Royal Marines. 

Imagine the accent, Dublin Oirish to the core, her not me.

“Don’t you worry son, dey won’t send an Oirish lad to Northern Ireland.”
“Really?” A look of false incredulity crossed my face.
“No son, dey wouldn’t send you to fight udder Oirish lads.”

As I flew across the channel between Glasgow and Belfast I realised she had lied. Never again could she regain that childish trust and faith most of us have in their mother’s utterances. Cruel, she was cruel, she had fibbed in a big way. 

Amazon Prime has just delivered a new book for me. The driver walked up the drive and said, “Here you are Dude.” Dude, dude, Doood, well what the hell? “Please don’t call me Dude, I’m Robert.” “But I call everyone Dude!” “Well not me!!!!”