Justin Barry “My Side” - Chapter 5
Justin Barry, "My Side"
No doubt the publicans
of this fine town got their palms caressed with a fair quantity of silver over
the jazz weekend, but more to the point, yours truly got looked after in the
shape of some good old-fashioned love-making. Just' the job I must say! Not
without a bit of hard graft though.
I have absolutely no problem admitting that I was like R. Kelly at the Scoil Mhuire debs as the weekend was approaching. No big surprise then that I rang in the long weekend with a bit of pintage after work on Friday, propping up the bar in the Rob Roy I was, not long after the clock struck 5. I knew Roche would be a solid contender for that and all credit, he didn't let me down.
Only trouble with Roche is that he likes to blow on a bit about work, burning the ear off me for about two hours when I'm trying to get down to the business at hand and get sauced, "I'm unreal busy these days Justin, down in court every day, my head is wrecked from it."
I'm a bit more concerned about where best to venture in search of some Francesco Totti, so I gently switch the focus, "That's all behind you now young bucko, your brief for the rest of the evening is simply to partake in what we in the industry like to call, Sleazy-time."
I get a call from Timmy at 8-ish saying that he's headed for the Metropole and seemingly that's the spot for the talent. Now I'm no jazz fanatic but I have to spread my wings where the pickings are good. After we leave the Rob Roy, I need a quarter pounder with cheese meal a la Micky D's to fill that void in my life, and of course we make a couple more stops en route to the Metropole to make sure we are well oiled, happy daze.
We get in there anyway and it's all a bit civilized, guys posing around in blazers and fawn chinos saying things like,"Budapest real estate is just about to take off, mark my words." Righty-oh old chum, remind me never to talk to you ever again. Lucky enough I spot a few ol' dolls I know from college, including Valerie Twomey, who I'm pretty sure likes a bit of the Justin-meister in her life. Not that she's anything spectacular, but she has definitely firmed up a bit, and I'm not feeling too picky in any event.
So I skulk up to the bar and bevy myself and then it's showtime,
"Hi Val, you're looking well, what brings you to this little swoiree?"
"Oh hi Justin, I just came down from Dublin, all the girls are home for the weekend aswell. I'm meeting loads of people I haven't seen in ages."
"Yeah I know, it's great to catch up with everyone isn't it. How's it going for you up above anyway?" (like a give a flock). And the award for most meaningless smalltalk of all time goes to....
Whilst others seem to be embracing the smooth sounds of the jazz, there's only one trombone in here that I care about, and it ain't the one being swung around by that old dude up on stage. So with a bit of decent ground work under my belt with Val, I decide to leave the situation on ice and get back to the lads and the sweet sweet liquor. It's downtown Messyville where they are concerned, all talking pure garbage and Timmy's shirt has been draped in about six pints of Murphy's. He's still confident though, roaring away "I gotta get my score Justin kid." Good luck with that tiger.
Before you know it, it's last call and their turfing us out, rather unceremoniously too I have to say. I run into Val outside so it's now or never, I need to make another go of it. She's being a bit touchy-feely and playing with her hair, and I remember that song by The Streets where the guy said that according to ITV, that's means she's keen.
I'm like,"We're heading back to my mansion for a nightcap if you fancy?"
And then she utters the magic words I've be waiting to hear all night,"Oh cool yeah, let's go and get a cab so will we."
Quatre-vingt dix sept mon bon homie, and might I add, Christophe Dugarry! Couldn't keep her hands off me inside in the cab then. A gentleman never tells, but who cares about those guys, I gave good ol' Val the best two and a half minutes of her life when we finally got back to Casa Del Barry.
With the pressure off I hit town early doors again for a few leisurely light ales on Saturday afternoon, which of course turned into another fairly hefty session - didn't manage to bag a brace for the side though unfortunately. Took Sunday off then, needed a bit of downtime after my exertions earlier in the weekend.
Halloween night on Wednesday anyway and I'm up in the gaf just tucking into the old dinner at around 7. In comes Stevie Murph all excited, holding up a flyer he picked up in town about a fancy dress night in The Classic,
"Do I look after you or what? Feast your eyes on this my man. The talent at that will be ridic. I presume you're with me or should I cancel your subscription to Hetro Monthly."
I take a moment to think and then stare at him all serious, "Just shut up - you had me at hello."
I scrub up and knock back the last of the Amstel from the fridge. In all fairness, Murph was on the ball, town is like Stringfellow's, student birds scantily clad in Halloween gear all over the place, and most of them well locked too. Best talent I ever saw in town ever.
I'm upstairs in The Classic anyway and I start chatting up this one from Kerry who's in second year Arts or something, cute enough and a savage pair of legs. I make some joke about her costume and I'm bullshitting away that I'm in final Commerce. She falls for that one anyway and then we get down to a bit of tonsil hockey - jobby job job. Didn't get my Ashley but how bad, I'll always have the memories.
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