Gaz Talks: ‘You’re like an internet troll made flesh’

by Mark O'Brien

You’d need a stepladder to get Davy down off the high horse he gets himself up on sometimes.

Ranting away to Paschal he was when I walked in to the pub. And sure wasn’t that eejit Paschal agreeing with him.

He’d jumped off the stool and was jumping around like a yappy little terrier by the time I got to the bar.

“A scandal!” he roars. “A bleedin’ scandal and we just let it happen. Standing idly by, as usual. This country’s crumbling all together. An utter shambles.”

“How many has he had?” I says to Paschal.

“Just the one,” says Paschal.

“Jaysus! Would you ever sit down and relax yourself,” I says to Davy.

“Sorry Gaz,” he says. “It just winds me up. The shenanigans they all get up to. I thought he was one of the good ones.”

I still had no idea what he was on about and I was starting to lose interest so I just picked up the paper on the bar and started leafing through it.

“Do ye not want to know who I’m on about?” he asks me.

I let out a long gasp and then said to him: “Go on then. What are ye banging on about this time?”

“Himself in the Aras,” he says. “Getting all that money – and no one is allowed even audit it. I can’t believe it.”

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – Davy really is some tulip.

“Right Davy,” I says to him. “For starters, that money goes to the office of the President – for functions and the like. It’s not going in to some Caymans account or something like that. I thought it said that in most of the stories. Did ye not read the whole thing?”

“Sure I saw the headlines – that’s enough,” he says and I started roaring laughing. “What are ye laughing at?” he says, sounding like he’s in the height of it with me.

“You’re like an internet troll made flesh,” I says, still laughing. “Banging on about something when you’ve not actually read the full story. This payment has been in for years, it’s not Michael D up to some sort of fiddle.”


I cut him off before he could finish. Sure, I knew what he was going to say.
“Yeah, it should be scrutinised but do ye not think the timing of this is all a bit off? Why now a few weeks from an election and not some other time in the last seven years? Or the fourteen years before that?”

Davy’s shoulders had slowly slumped from attack mode back to his usual slouch.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says.

“Ah yeah,” I says, taking a long sup of me pint.

“Who’s gonna calm ye down in a few weeks?”

“What do ye mean?” he says.

“I’m heading off,” I says.

“What do ye mean?” he says, looking crestfallen.

“To Brittas Bay,” I says. “The cousin owns a little caravan park down there and he’s not well at the moment so he’s asked me to come down and manage it for a while.”

“Brittas Bay! Caravan park!” he yelps at me. “But it’s nearly winter.”

“I know,” I says. “There’ll be no one around. Handy money.”

“Ah here,” says Davy. “Can’t believe you’re springing that on me. When will ye be back?”

“Dunno,” I says. “I might not be back. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Jaysus…” he says, tailing off and staring up at the wall for about 30 seconds, before turning to me and saying: “Better get me in a pint then if you’re heading off.”

Never change, me auld mucker. Never change.

Related Articles