Born 15 minutes apart and raised a few front doors from each other, the two fiftysomething friends each wrap an arm around my shoulders and we move as one body, away from the midnight cab, towards my front door, in a man-huggy drunken lope.
The relationship enjoyed by these two men might be called brotherly, but that would be unfair. I can recognise their bond, because I’m lucky enough to share similar ones in my life.
They are as close as brothers, but as friends they are unencumbered by the limitations of sibling rivalry and family obligation. Safely in the front door and ensconsed, sipping whiskey in my living room, I sit back and laugh as they cruelly slag each other off with the skill of decades practice.
It’s been a long night, so I head off to bed, leaving the life-long friends to their own company. In front of me they were behaving like men: neither sensible nor sober men, but grown-ups nonetheless. Now that I am above, lying in bed, their slagging has stopped. They have no audience any more, so they don’t need to display their wit; their repartee. From the room below rises the wonderful sound of two grown men giggling and chuckling like the eight year-old boys they once were, together.
I’m drifting off into sleep, awash with their distant laughter. My last waking thoughts of the night make my heart sing for Galway City. Earlier, as we had clambered leggy and locked out of that cab, my good friend who was down from the old village in Co. Mayo stretched his arms out wide, announcing
“I love being in Galway! It’s great to be in the city!”
His friend from Dublin stretched his arms wide, declaring in response
“I love being in Galway! It’s great to be out of the city!”
Naturally I had to seal the deal, stretching my arms and saying
“I love Galway! It’s a little bit of what you want, whatever that is!”
We three laughed smugly, they each taking one of my outstretched arms, sandwiching me as if I was Galway, in the middle of their rural urban sandwich.
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4 comments:
Hey Charlie,
You made this Galwegian smile. Nice one! But you are showing your age by heading off to bed while the party goes on downstairs. What kind of meat in the sandwich is that?!!
It's flaccid middle-aged meat, English Yiddish rubbish baloney, that's what it is!
Truth be told, I felt the boys wanted a little alone time, as you know yourself when your best mate rolls in for one night. Thanks for the feedback, glad I made you smile!
Ah yes Charlie twas a good sambo. First a bit of bread, then a bit of let us, then add malt, barley, herbs and spices. Sprinkle in a wee bit of slag, well washed. Then a dash of salt(hill) and couch in a blanket of luv...........
Paul
Well said Paul! I particularly enjoyed the 'let us' and the grain, but when consuming life, the lurrrve is always the best bit. Hope you're doing well up in the city!
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