Tuesday, 28 August 2012
"Sure, it's only about 20 quid Francis!"
I look to my side. Sausage fest sedan with the only lassies in the place about to hit the wall and wearing fat suits. The group of people I'm with are mates of the Landlord, about 13 years my senior, or thereabouts.
"Sure, you cannae maet a bleedin burd in a place like dis!"
That's certainly true. The ratio of men to women in this place strikes out at about 70/30. The three lassies in the corner are taking pictures of each other and giggling like children. Curse facebook, exacerbating the solipsism of the female mind for nigh on a decade now.
"It's called Speed Dating" Birrell continues on. You sit at this table rite, and then you're like, talking to these burds, but you only have five minutes tae do it, te make yer mark, ye knowwa ah meain?"
This guy's a fucking brainbox. He's got a masters in veterinary. He has a colorful vocabulary, but he isn't one of those posh Foxrock spazoes, I'm enjoying his company, truth be told.
I turn to him and look past his shoulder. Red eye has caught me again. A hot lassie with silver stilettos has just brushed past a tall man in a brown jacket. A high seven. Franco's rule is applied: If a Irish woman is a 7+, 70 percent of the time, she's Polish.
"This place, very nice!", she says to her friend, who she has just embraced. Thick Polish accent. Feminine and charming. We're onto enough data.Fuck Hegel. This is an absolute truth. Polis chicks>>>Irish. Dere. Ah sayd it.
"But Birrell!" I reply with a grin. What's with all de speeddating? I mean, yer a fucking anamal man now! It might not be the most glamourous job, with what sticking your hand up cow's arses, but you're loaded man! What's to stop ye picking up some nice broad?"
He turns to me and says: "You get old mate. Don't remember, I'm only a decade older than you. We're not surround by those fit University burds anymore."
There's a brief silence. They're playing "Galway Girl" by Mundy on the radio. People formicating up and down the stairs to the toilets. This guy's a decade older than me. Fucking hell. He's all old and flabby and shit.
"And it hits you, just like dat. Deco over there!, Oi Deco!"
Didn't hear him, we're at the song's chorus.
"FOOKIN DIABETIC SPAZ"
Laughter erupts at the table.
"Piss off ye daft cunt!"
"He's not much older than you..."
He raises his glass.
"You're older a lot longer than being a young man, Francis! You think you'll be getting off on three hours of sleep and tumbln intae a lecture heh lyke yer doing nowt? Fook off! Dis, will be like a hamma, to the hed! Enjoy it while you can! Everyone fooking wastes their twenties! LIVE TO REGRET"
"DIABETIC DECO! Fooking WANKA!"
The night, I couldn't remember more than this, apart from trying to game a 35 year old 6 (and failing fucking miserably), and seeing that hot little Polish chick leaving, out. One, how the fuck is a guy with a masters in veterinary, not a bad looking guy, and from what I've seen, sound out enough and has some game, considering fucking speed dating? Society, wake up, wake up! There is something nefarious here, Second, this guy is not a million years older or anything like that, fucks sake en all. Ten years, and him and all his mates look like shite. Poorly dressed, fat, one guy with hair down to his arse and quickly going grey. Whether this is just feeding your body through a drink junk food grinder 2122232425262728 or just natural ageing, I dunno, but it, at the time, scared the shite out of me. You are going to age, but you can control this. And you should start, if you're like me, when you're at the start of yer twenties, ie right fucking now, because it will be all too fast, faster then you think.
You want to stop procrastinating? Good. Get talking to a few lads in their 30's. They're old enough to see the results of good living, but young enough to remember their youthful vivacity. To an old man, youth sees an abstraction, a faraway place to a 30's fella, it feels like they were tossing jack daniels shots back like it was yesserdays...en 3ehfookin4. Just like you.