Thought I'd tell ye about this:Having, late yesterday, started emerging from The Pit (I'd become borderline depressed, having been practically off line for the past month or so. Not too clever when ye live in solitary!) I found I'd bought a new duvet. This is good. It's part of my grand master plan to have a shower. Get my bed sorted out. And stop sleeping in these half rotten clothes.
The quilt is unopened though, as yet. Because another part of my plan is to get the stove fired up for the big occasion. That's dependent on when my mate ever comes up with the new stove door catch I commissioned him to make.
And then, there's the question of the mattress. I need another, second hand, one. The Dogs and I tend to get through about one a year or so. No sense in buying brand new then! Fuck, no!
We've completely fucked this one. It's now a challenge to lay on. A real bed of exposed springs and sticky into ye bits. Nasty!
Now, I'm not exactly flush, right now. Having spent lavishly on 3 ie and Vodafone, trying to sort my shit out. Fucking quilt cost me €25.00. Because the usual shop was out of stock till the next day. They charge me €10.00!!! Right kick to the balls, eh? I had to go to the Dickensian shop and pay through the nose.
Amazingly though, the little old lady in there cheerily asked me; " Is this for you, or ye Dogs? " Without even thinking about it, I said it was for me, and my Dogs. Because we all pile in together. " And what Dogs do ye have ....? "
It's only since sunk in that A/ I didn't know this lady from Adam. B/ I've never taken one of my Dogs into town. C/ There are absolutely No fucking secrets in small town Eire!
Isn't that lovely though? A community in which a virtual recluse, who appears in town for a few hours, once a week, can become known as a man who worships his Dogs, and Every fucker knows it!
I think that's fucking priceless!
How much do You know about ye next door neighbours? Them about you?Anyway; So, today, I'm up at Pat's, attending my / his rodent boxes. He's appeared and is watching me changing over trays. Pouring fresh bait in. He's said he must pay me for the bait I'm using!
I'm like; Get to fuck!!! Since when has either of us held our hand out for doing eachother a favour, dinny? He cut me in on the Farrier, yesterday. Got my donk's feet sorted at group discount, with his. Today, I show him dead rodents. Swings and roundabouts.
And, today, having seen to the boxes, I figured I'd just stash these fresh box liners up there. Save fetching them home and back. So, I thought I'd put them up on the wall plate of Pat's little, dry, general storage / lose shit shed. The one with the permanently hanging open door.
So, I duck in there and, what the fuck do I see, up against the wall to my immediate right? Discarded, single mattress!!! Something's happened to it. There's a scratched out patch on one side.
So what?! My Dogs eventually do that to All my mattresses. And they cost me €40.00 a piece to replace, from the 'Second Hand' (Read; Dead persons home clearance!) shop in town!
See Pat again, I'll have a word. He can run it down here, on the tractor. Right there, he's saved me forty fucking quid! Couple more years worth of bait, however ye look at it!
I fucking Love this way of life!
