General Chat

Afternoon Peeps :-D :-D <3

Before you read this contribution, I have to admit immediately & warn you that the content of this piece is Irish orientated. So, if I occasionally throw in unusual or deceptively descriptive Irish words (Begorrah! or Arrah, for example) - well tough! But it is St Patrick’s Day & the fact that Donald Trump’s green hat depicted a four-leaf Clover instead of the ubiquitous three-leaf Shamrock makes no more than a smidgen of difference to me on this side of the pond.

'Closing Time' is a uniquely Irish concept – because like many of the Irish most familiar well-worn phrases, it rarely means what it says on the tin.

Closing Time – and we're talking in the context of pubs, just in case you did not guess – would suggest the time that a bar closes. But that's far too simple an explanation of how things are done in the old country, particularly on St Patrick‘s day.

At the very least, closing time is the approximate time the barman stops pulling pints because of his sheer exhaustion. The boozy regulars then have anywhere between 30 minutes & an hour to sup-up before leaving the premises. That's standard practice.

But, there are no hard & fast rules at on this day. Rules are made-up on the hoof.
Interpreted in its most liberal way – and here we're talking for the most part about rural Ireland – it's an indication of the time you should set out to the local for a few pints. For example, if the official closing time is half eleven, it's time enough heading out around half ten because no one in their right mind would be bothering with an earlier start than that - especially if you're going to survive to the actual time the bar closes which could be any time from midnight to the time a few other mature minded people might associate with going to work early.

Gosh! That's a long comment! Sorry!

Closing time to a younger generation in Ireland is ‘shot time’, the ten minutes of the evening set aside for several fast rounds of 'After Shock' to help them move seamlessly into that portion of the night when they take on the appearance of passengers on a ferry during a very stormy night at sea. The irony here is that they too only surface shortly before closing time, because they've been in someone's house all evening collectively attempting to rescue Russia's GNP through their consumption of cheap vodka.

So I'm told because I was never like that as a youngster. Why would I? Lack of funds held me back. Still does! Now, more than ever, when you go into an Irish pub at teatime – and this is presuming they're even open at that early hour – you might find a crowd big enough to fit comfortably in a green phone box - there are a few left, I believe. But return to the scene around eleven on a Friday night and it's like the last days of the Roman Empire, with pints flowing as though every day was Arthur's Day.

I was out for a few pints with a mate of mine recently – just a few; we're not the spring chickens we used to be – and by 9.30 we both knew we'd had enough to be happy and not enough to be fools. Or was that the other way round? No matter. So we decided to call it a draw and go home – with a lingering feeling that there might be something wrong with us, as we headed in the complete opposite direction to the rest of the entire population of the area.

To save face, we felt the need to tell people we knew that we were just going on somewhere else, in case they thought we were contravening the age-old Irish code....never leave before you're firmly told you have to by the Police.

“When is closing time?” we ask, as though the end of the period during which it is legal to sell alcohol has to be the yardstick by which we measure our leisure time. But Irish people measure their social drinking capacity by working back in pints from 11.30pm. So if you think the others can drink more than you, it's better to give them a head start just so you can all reach the same level of anaesthetisation when it's time to go home, assuming you can remember where you live.

I knew of an elderly gentleman many moons ago who used to make his way to the pub in his donkey & cart. It wasn't the most comfortable of journeys with steel rims on the cart wheels on sandy potholed lanes. Few fellow stragglers ever thumbed a lift from him. But, the donkey knew the journey there &, more importantly, the way home so well that he needed no guidance from its owner or, for that matter, the use of a SatNav.

So, when the chap assured himself he could not consume any more beer, a few mates would gingerly throw him into the middle of the cart; give the donkey a little tap of a shillelagh to his posterior & off they both went merrily along.

Arrah - down the hatch! Sláinte & happy St Patrick‘s Day! May your God go with you - whoever she is!

Afternoon :-D :-D

This App might be helpful you're looking at BMD's and want to copy one.

There is a free one but it only stores 2 scans.

http://download.cnet.com/Tiny-Scanner-PDF-scanner-to-scan-document-receipt-fax/3000-2064_4-75858901.html

Delicate subject Scanners :-0 ;-)

Hello good afternoon to you all :-D <3

I enjoyed reading that Dermot :-) I saw the whole picture!

Happy St.Patricks Day everyone :-D

Coooooooooooeeeeeeeee

Missed yer SOLLLLLLLLLL :-D <3

Hellooooooo
:-D :-D <3

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Heyup Munchkin :-D <3 ;-)

There ya is :-D :-D <3

Meant to say Thanks :-D to Mr M for the app So

Thanks Mr M :-D

I am ;-)

Wheres ya been, what you been upto?? :-D <3

Hows you and yours today <3

Not been anywhere :-0 done nuffink ;-)

All good here thanks, been with the little ones at Mums
so all smiles :-D :-D <3

Lovely <3

Trolls mad they are :-D :-D