Getting bored from Renards was some feat, especially with the amount of moo I've spent in there over the years, writes ROSS O'CARROLL-KELLY
JULIETTE CROMIE was one of those birds who had a thing for Good On Paper goys.
You could have a face like a bag of water and it honestly wouldn't matter – it was, like, your career prospects she was only ever interested in? The famous story was she walked into Renards one night and shouted, "Is there a doctor in the house?" and when a hand went up, she went, "Yeah? What are you doing Saturday night?" Anyway, at some point, she took a major shine to JP, back in the day when he was selling gaffs like there was no actual tomorrow – and come to think of it, in hisgame, there actually wasn't.
But they get chatting one Friday night in the Plu Bar and they arrange, like, a date. Juliette wasn't the kind of bird you took to a restaurant where they give you crayons to colour the focking table cloth, so he brings her instead to L'Écrivain – theL'Écrivain – where she spent two hours expertly pumping him for details of his commissions and his forecast for the future of the property morket.
That was the night that JP came up with his world famous plan for getting out of bad dates. Somewhere between the main and the dessert courses, he stands up and tells Juliette he has to hit the can. He disappears into the little room, whips off his boxers, runs them under the tap, then wrings them out. He goes back to the table – commando, remember – hangs his jockeys over the back of his chair and goes, “Better let them air out for a while.” He ate his tiramisu alone.
It’s Wednesday night and we’re sitting in Fionn’s gaff, watching the Lions make heavy work of beating the Shorks, and we’re all – I’d have to say – reminiscing about Renards and the old days and the old characters, none of us really able to take the news in. It’s like, bit by bit, this recession is sucking all the happiness out of our lives.
“I can’t believe that I’ll never again walk down South Frederick Street again,” I go, “and have Robbie Fox tell me not to bother my hole coming any nearer because I’m borred – and borred for life.” We all shake our heads. Fionn’s there, “First Cocoon, now Renards. There mustn’t be a drinking establishment left south of the river where you’re blacklisted. Must make you feel very old.” I go, “You said it, Player. You said it.”
Luke Fitzgerald gets over for a try. I’m really beginning to warm to the goy.
"How did you end up getting borred in the first place," Oisinn goes, because it wassome feat, the amount of moo I used to spend in there. "Was it the night you accused Codden Faddle of stealing your pint?" I'm there, "Actually, Codden Faddle didsteal my pint. But no, it was, er, well, another time . . ." And, given that it's a night for stories, I decide to tell them one I've been keeping from them for all these years.
One night, I was in there – on my own, as it happens – and I ended up pulling a bormaid called Dashka, who was, like, Russian, of all things? If she was a ringer for anyone, you’d have to say it was Yelena Dementyeva, and much as I hate to be writing my own reviews here, the girl was all over me like an oil spill.
Anyway, midnight, her shift ended and she asked me if I fancied going back to hers – which is obviously a ridiculous question – and five minutes later, we were sitting outside in her Mini Cooper, destination some ant farm development somewhere down the quays.
It was as she was turning the key in the engine that she asked me a question that almost stopped my hort. She asked me what I thought of Satan. I went, “Er . . . I’m pretty sure I misheard that, Dashka. Lot of drink on board, blah, blah, blah . . .” “I ask you, do you like Satan?” she went again.
As you can imagine, roysh, I was suddenly sobering up fast. I was like, "I'm, er, not really sure I believe in messing aroundwith that kind of shit?" But she went, "You wheel try eet, though – yes? Pahlees! You wheel love eet. I promees. I introduce all of my friends to eet," and it was at that point that I storted devising an exit strategy even more cunning than JP's.
I suddenly went, “Hey, what’s that noise?” and she sort of, like, looked at me, you’d have to say blankly. “Sounds to me like your exhaust is focked,” and she went, “I cannot hear eet,” and I was there, “Come on, let’s go take a look,” which is what ended up happening. We both got out and walked around to the back of the cor. I was suddenly down on my haunches, pretending to know what the fock I was looking at and sort of, like, tutting to myself. Then I went, “Pop the boot there, would you?” which she did.
“Ah,” I suddenly went, “there’s your problem – look in at the back there.” Dashka stuck her head in and I quickly grabbed her legs, like I was taking down The Bull Hayes five yords from the line. I, like, bundled her head-first into the boot and slammed it shut again.
Then I tipped back across to Renards. "You must be finding it hord to get the staff," I went to one of the bouncers. "Call the Feds," and it was at that exact point that Robbie, I suppose, emergedfrom inside the club. I went, "That Dashka's into Satan," and Robbie went, "Yeah, I know." I was like, "Oh, and you approve of this, do you? Devil worship, blah, blah blah?" He laughed. "Ross, she's into seitan – with an ei?" and I went, "Dude, Satan is Satan – no matter how you spin it." He shook his head. "No, thisseitan," he went, "is a kind of food," and I suddenly felt my entire body freeze. It was one of those moments when you knowyou've focked up? You're just waiting to find out how badly. "It's wheat gluten, cooked. Full of protein. What can I say, the girl's a health freak."
I sort of, like, nodded, I suppose you’d say thoughtfully. Then I handed him her cor keys and went, “You better let her out of the boot of her cor,” then I walked off, in fairness to me, not even waiting for the red cord.
The goys are practically on the floor laughing. “Let’s go tonight,” Fionn goes and I’m there, “Come on, then. Just to get turned away. One last time.”
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