CHARMAINE CELEBRATES BIRTHDAY WITH LILYWHITE BASH
The trek through town had given me a dose of the blue devils; What with traffic ghastly and drivers even more so, I pulled into the Lilywhite car park ill-prepared for the horror awaiting me.
I wasn't in the door three merry paces when I had the grave misfortune of bumping into the birthday girl herself, one Charmaine Cumberton. Clearly two sheets to the wind (and rising), I didn't like her attitude above half. Decked out in a Wonder Woman costume, the outfit had evidently been designed for a well grown pixie and I could only wonder at how she had contrived to pour herself into the get-up without bursting several hundred seams. Tugging at my arm roguishly, she proffered a request that I make the night sound 'great, our fella'. One quick scan about the boozy brutes in situ and I was disabused of any such sympathetic leanings. Paul Daniels, I-am-not. That and I believed her to be uncommon cheeky. No matter - for without seat or some such ballast upon which to cling - I fancied she'd measure her length on the dance floor before proceedings ran aground. And serve her impudence right.
Leaving Shaky to her own devices, I toggled off to the bar where I was rudely accosted by Terry Balfe - and just as I was mid-order Re: 'Brandy and ginger ale and a glass for yourself dear'. Mark my words, I was leery of this fellow from the get-go. For one, he came from Ladywell Terrace, which not many people do, in my estimation. For two, he was a thoroughbred bore and I knew as much as soon as he sidled into a yawn about some infernal road works down Mary Street South direction. I closed my eyes and sipped, endeavouring to hear as little from this buffoon as was practicable in the circs; The one eye I'd left open could see I wasn't about to get a word in edgeways - not this week at any rate - so I tipped my hat to the back of his head before shimmying off enraged. Devil a doubt, Mr Balfe had taken a wrong turning on his way to the Hatters' for tea.
(I'm sure he'd given a shout out to some or other clown but I hadn't remained long enough in his company to note the dedication)
Cumberton at Charmaine's 31st birthday party in
The Lilywhite Lounge on Friday night.
From frying pan to fiery furnace, I swerved close to the bumbling DJ and his jack-in-the-box assemblage - but closer still to a table full of scoundrels. I shot down a list of particulars before making my excuses and sidewinding right. The gang: a veritable roll call of cads and yahoos, such that I will beg no pardon for my hasty skedaddle.
For the record, I was briefly acquainted with Al Dingley from Castle Road, Patsy Logue from Kilkerley, Dennis Gabb from The Greengates, Fintan Chundee from Hazelwood Avenue, Matt Wade of Hackballscross, Piper McGrane from Toberona, Dixie McNae from god-only-knows and Charlie Dobbyn from Bridge A Crinn. I'd give gold to groceries that these vulgarians were a jailer's nightmare. Each fiend under the influence of some malevolent opiate; and had there been an award for Eyes-Like-Miniature-Dinner-Plates, these coves would've romped home.
Next up, I picked out local thief Arthur Wade squatting nearby and sporting enough jewellery to open up a small shop (which ordinarily he'd have pilfered, despite himself). Not quite the greatest villain since Dick Turpin but he'd have passed as a highwayman and no question. He was in the company of Charmaine's sister Natasha who, perched upon his knee a-dangling, demanded that I give a big shout out to her parents Mavis and Sid - a mix up with dates had put paid to the cheery couples attendance; Or like as not, they'd disowned the rakish siblings and headed for the hills. It wasn't my place to say, so I didn't.
At five minutes remove, I was holding court bar-side, when I inadvertently chanced upon another gaggle of wonky miscreants. There appeared before me a parade of pyjama clad Oompa Loompas, bounding-in-line to whatever racket the disc jockey was hounding out. To a wench, the zips on each flouncing bodice were lowered to the very edge of what might be considered decent in civil society. I had reason to fear a mishap had just one errant bouncer accidentally flown the nest. For gauche, read: Nancy and Dorothy Tutty from Oaklawns, Madison Torpey from Hoey's Lane, Rita Hallinan from Castle Heights, and Maggie Barley from Pearse Park. The rowdies at the back sought to encourage the spectacle abhorrent whereas I had sense enough to feign delight while pencilling their details in a great splodge of blank ink and shorthand.
Two minutes advanced and I was standing aside, wondering how best I might catch scurvy or plead a leg break. I was fiddling idly with my notebook when the god's begat yet another sight unsavoury: Elise Wesley (of Ard Easmuinn) dashed by me like she'd trodden on burning cinders. Eyes drawn to her rickety arse, I deduced with some perception that dear old flatulence had deserted her in favour of a mischievous follow-through.
Cue a cacophony of shrieks and jests, while she gave two fingers to the rogues' gallery before disappearing gazelle-like for the Ladies. I clocked her at 18 mph but it was very much a sectional timing on my behalf. I expect she was still 'up for making a night of it', though confirmation was slow in coming.
Dixie McNae. Front Row (L-R) Charlie Dobbyn and Arthur Wade
Dispensing with the usual mixer, I swigged and swallowed a double, neat. I may not be much of a hand at spoofing but I have one discernible talent and that's for sniffing out the exit when things are beginning to look like a regular hell. Glass down, I turned tail towards freedom, stopping only to swerve the shifty embrace that was Jas Waite and Esther Brady. Both foxed and grinning like magpies - thought I, if they are the best Annagassan has to offer, there may be something to salvage yet from rising sea levels.
So relief, and no little satisfaction that I'd come away with nothing worse than a ruffled Camelhair jacket and a mild bout of the jingle jangles. I lit a cheroot and strolled over to my carriage; Bamboozled, but intact. A big shout out to me, I fancy.
*All names are fictitious. Alas, the same cannot be said of the places mentioned.
