The Gypsyphobe, The Taxi Driver and The Politician

As ye know, I have my Rosie horse. I also have my Pot Cart for her, which I'll be showing ye later. Only, the craic is that one doesn't simply harness a horse to something as comparitivly heavy as a Pot Cart and expect the poor creature to drag it for miles, up and down hills. Certainly not a horse who's done little more than stand about eating for the past god knows how long. No more than ye'd work a Dog unfit.

So, ye need a thing called an Exercise Cart. Basically, steel tubes for shafts. Two motor bike wheels. Tubular steel arrangement to support a two man bench seat and somewhere to rest ye feet. Not a million miles removed from a Trotting Cart then ~ if that might help ye visualise one? And that's what I need, for Rosie.

First stop then; " Dragon Driving ". Where everyone goes for their various carts. I got my Pot Cart off there. But, whilst there seemed to be no end of Exercise Carts on offer, enquires proved otherwise. I called about a few of the better looking, lower priced ones. All gone. I also wanted one within a sensible distance of the ferry, of course. Norfolk or Sussex is no good.

So, I checked my bank balance. Sucked my teeth and started looking at the higher end stuff. Found a lovely one, in Lancashire. £400 or so. Rang the bloke up and it was still there. I told him I was after it and would just have to sort out the man to fetch it back to me. Friend of mine here said his brother's back and forth a couple of times a week. I'd look him up.

Took the guys e mail and told him to look out for mine presently. E mailed him, to confirm my interest and so forth. He'd said he'd be home in an hour. Last I fucking heard from him! Of course, I didn't know that then. Monday night. I figured he'd be in my mailer next day. So off to town I went, to see my mate about his bro'. And that's where things Really blew up in my face!

Turns out the brother in question is, among other things, one of the local taxi drivers. The very same one who, a year or two back, declared me " A dirty, stinking Gypo " and refused to carry me. Hardly going to be interested in having me hire him for a fucking pick up then, is he? And, what if the guy selling the cart turned out to be a Gypsy? Things could get awkward ..... Now I was fucked.

So, there I am, wandering around town, asking all and sundry how I might get a cart brought over. And getting no where. And that's what I was pondering as I sat in Jim's, figuring I'd better get off home.

Padraig was just finishing his day job. I'd call him. Steve was in england. Gary was off planet somewhere. That's why I'd had to hitch a lift in. One of the few motors to come along had had a huge box on the back seat and a woman in the passenger seat. It'd gone past, like all the rest. Then stopped, sixty five yards down and ..... well, I ignored it. I was looking for a lift.

Then, a few minutes later, this motor was reversing back towards me! I saw the passenger seat was now empty - the woman in the back, squeezed in with the box - and there's the driver, a Pav (Irish Gypsy) telling me to jump in! Bless him! We both agreed it was a blisteringly hot day. At journeys end I slipped him a fiver ~ to get a cooling pint. Taxi would've cost me a tenner. He didn't have to rearrange his motor for me.

I get on alright with the local Pav's. From the start, I treated them as I would any one who's ok with me. Now, alough our entire cultures are as different as chalk and cheese ~ they find english Gypsys as 'different' as anyone else does themselves. There's really very little common ground. But, I see them as human beings. Thus they treat me as one in return.

Anyway, that was getting in. Now I needed to get out. And I was hauling far too much 'shopping' to carry out to the road. I needed a cab. Padraig was miles out of town and booked for Ages?! Oh, shit! I tried Tom - answering machine. Fuck! I was sunk. I'd be sat in the pub for hours! Actually Not my idea of fun. I have creatures to feed here and don't like drinking too much in pubs.

Then my phone rang. It was Padraig. He said his brother, Thomas, would be with me in two minutes! Thomas is our local Fine Gael councillor. I voted for him at the recent locals. Other than that, the fact that he's always used my name to me when we've passed, and the fact that his own foal survived, I really know damn all about the bloke.

So, there we are, bowling along the road to my place. I, of course, have only one thing on my mind and I mention it. " Exercise Cart? " Says Thomas. " So and so had a nice one. Nothing fancy, but perfectly good cart. Good seat and suspension. It'd fit your mare. Why, I should know it well; I drove my own mare in it, up and down this very road! " I'm all ears. But 'Had' ?

" So and so's been dead this three years now. " (Fuck.) " But the cart's still in his shed, down in town. " (Eh?!) " His place is all locked up. But I know 'X' who has the keys. I'll get onto him. And, if not, X and I have an old cart. Made it ourselves. We've no use for it now. Again, a bit scruffy, but perfectly useable. Here; I'll call X ..... "

And, with that, Thomas called, on the hands free. And, minutes later, I wanted to vote this man Irish Amassador! He was fucking Perfect! Timing. Delivery. Questions. Answers. Every word was perfectly executed. Maybe this guy was a life long friend of his? But he just seemed to effortlessly hit all the right buttons, asking all the right questions. Thomas obviously knows his horses too!

By the time we reached my gate, he was throwing in that there'd probably be a suitably 'workaday' full harness available too. So I wouldn't need to let people see Rosie just wandering about in her 'Sunday Best'! Fucking A ~ Mazing! What a fucking turn up, eh?!

There ye go then. That was Tuesday. I'll probably see Padraig on Saturday. See what news he has for me.

Just incredible, isn't it? I was looking at lashing out with £100's and £100's. Desperate to just get something I could hitch Rosie to and get out, on the road, before this summer slips me by. And the answer's been buried in a shed, in town. Just waiting for the call. I call and Boosh!

I fucking Love these people! We work well together. We get along. Something about our principles.