Covid Lockdown (Day 3: Día De San Patricio ( Saint Patricks Day )
I awoke with the knowledge that I would spend Saint Patrick's Day indoors. What could I do to recreate the feel of an Irish pub in my own home? Oh sure, the place stank of sweat and booze, but was it enough for that authenticate pub experience. Where was the cigarette ash stained carpet? Where was the nauseating stench of piss? Where was the poorly played Irish music by the pub owner's nephew? Where oh where was the local supermarkets float pulled by a dangerously rusted tractor? These are the many elements that make the perfect Patrick's day for the discerning Irish man. Without these elements, the day is simply another day in the week.
I sit up in bed accepting my faith. It would just be another day in quarantine. A Patrick's day inside with the wife and Frank the cat. Mister Frank walks in the door. His regular black eye patch has been replaced with a green one. Normally Frank likes to give off something of a hard cat image. I thought the change of eye patches would upset him, but he seems to have accepted that today is Paddy's day, and my wife will adorn him with all manner of green shit. He would never admit it but I think he secretly liked the attention.
We decide to make the best of it. We head to the local supermarket to pick up some whiskey. I look forward to perusing the shops selection of Irish whiskeys. My options were disappointingly limited. Jameson or Bushmills. Everyone knows Bushmills is Protestant whiskey and Jameson god bless it, is shite whiskey. With neither option appealing to me, I begrudgingly buy some Scotch. When Frank sees the bottle, he will lose it. If there’s one thing he hates more than dogs, it’s Scottish whiskey. I find my wife looking over the red wines. She asks my advice. I pretend to know what I’m talking about but really, I’m not even sure why red wine is red.
We get home and decide to treat ourselves to a Glovo order. That’s Deliveroo to you Brits. Uber-Eats to my fat friends stateside. I decided with it being Paddy's days I’d order a traditional Irish meal. Pad Thai prawn noodles with peanut sauce and spring rolls. I order sushi for Frank. No soy, no wasabi. He can’t take wasabi after what happened on his birthday.
The food arrives and we tuck in. I wash it down with my few remaining beers. It’s not long before I crack open the Scotch. Franks hears the bottle open and runs into the kitchen. Once he saw the label, he gave me a look that could sour milk. He walked off in disgust. It would be days before he would talk to me again. He could hold a grudge like no other cat I knew.
I awoke hours later in a daze. A half-drunk glass of scotch in one hand and a trumpet in the other. Considering I don’t play or own a trumpet I found this most peculiar. My wife was watching some god-awful indie movie starring Sandra Bullock. I suggest putting on Commando. Arnie at his absolute best. I know she hears me, but she doesn't respond. I looked around for the whiskey but it was nowhere to be seen. I asked my wife where it was and she pointed over to Frank the cat in the corner. “That’s your fault”, she says. Frank was propped up against the wall singing the Scottish national anthem over and over. The bottle of Scotch half empty beside him. “Oh flower of Scotland, when will we see, your likes again.......”. I record a video of him singing on my phone so I can remind of his betrayal tomorrow.
Commando comes on the television. I knew my wife couldn’t resist a bit of Arnie. I abandon my writing for the night.
Alcohol level remaining: Half bottle of Scotch and half a bottle of red wine.
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