AGAINST THE ODDS:IT WAS tea-time on Monday and there was chaos in Talbot Street as a bus pulled in at the 27 terminus with a portly, middle-aged driver at the wheel. Gathered at the stop, in a disorderly queue, was a motley crew of disgruntled passengers.

There were women with shopping bags under one oxter and snotty chiselers under the other; spotty youths in jeans and hoodies; teenage girls with too much make-up and not nearly enough clothes given the cool late April air.

What they all had in common was anger at Dublin Bus for leaving them high and dry, or in some cases wet, as there was no adequate shelter, following an unofficial strike of drivers at Harristown and Clontarf garages.

Many routes on the north side of the city had been scrapped for the day; others were running on a reduced service.

As he prepared to open the doors, Vinny Fitzpatrick could see the faces; hear the raised voices.

He knew the young bucks had sprung forward to jump the queue and that the bus capacity of 74 passengers, plus maybe 20 more standing, wasn’t enough to satisfy demand. He felt like the good officers of the Titanic who knew their ship hadn’t enough lifeboats to get everyone to safety but couldn’t let on.

These people deserved a better service than Dublin Bus was providing, he felt, but the drivers were caught between a rock and a hard place with management over new working practices.

A part of him wondered what would happen if he released the brake and simply pulled away, leaving the punters stranded.

What if he smiled and waved as he did so, a bit like Fernando Rey to Gene Hackman in the subway scene in the movie, The French Connection? Only that wasn’t Vinny’s way. His idea of living on the edge was not rinsing out the wash basin after he’d had a shave – it infuriated Angie, the new Mrs Fitzpatrick.

With a puff of the cheeks, he opened the doors and prepared for the onslaught – this wasn’t going to be easy-peasy.

It was almost 10pm that night when Vinny slipped quietly into Foley’s for a rendezvous with Macker.

Two Newcastle fans were bemoaning their team’s fate after the stalemate with Portsmouth had nudged them closer to the abyss. “It all began when they sacked Bobby Robson,” said one disconsolately. “No. It all began when Keegan walked out,” replied the other.

Vinny thought it had begun when Jackie Milburn retired but said nothing and left the lads to stew over trips to Doncaster, Peterborough and Plymouth as he joined Macker in their regular pitch.

The meeting had been called by Vinny, who felt he needed a time-out after a weekend of uncharted highs; marriage to Angie on Friday coupled with the news that he was, at 51, about to become a father.

The registry office wedding, second time around, had gone smoothly thanks to Macker’s boot room preparation. No alcohol, a boiled egg and toast breakfast and two cups of green tea – “to help purify your insides,” explained Macker.

To ensure the butterflies in Vinny’s stomach stayed grounded before the nuptials, Macker had entertained Vinny with tales of other momentous global events that had happened on April 24th.

Vinny had been fascinated to realise that in Dublin on that day in 1916, the Easter Rising had begun and that Boland’s Mills, right across the road from the registry office in lower Grand Canal Street, had been under the watch of one Eamon De Valera.

While far further south of the Liffey, one of Vinny’s heroes, Tom Crean, had been part of the rescue party under Earnest Shackleton, who had set off that same day in 1916 from Elephant Island in the James Caird on their epic voyage to South Georgia.

Vinny’s own voyage from bachelorhood to betrothed was completed shortly before 3pm when Angie gave him a squeeze, a tender kiss and whispered in his ear “don’t tell anyone about our news”.

The remainder of the day had passed without incident, mostly because Macker had stuck tight to Vinny to ensure he stayed sober.

There had been a fine dinner in Templar’s restaurant at Clontarf Castle, where Angie and Vinny stayed overnight, without any hanky panky, in a luxury suite.

On Saturday, after racing, Angie hosted a soiree for her friends from the tennis and Scrabble clubs and on Sunday they had gone to Bettystown for dinner with Vinny’s sister, Mary, and her infuriating husband, Bungalow Bob.

It was only now, on Monday evening, with the second pint settling in front of him, that Vinny could finally vent his feelings. While Angie had sworn him to secrecy, he simply had to unburden himself of the news that she was expecting.

“Macker, I can get my head around being married ’cos I’ve been going with Angie for over a year and living in her place since Christmas but what has me banjaxed is the notion of being a father,” he said, pausing for effect.

Macker raised an eyebrow, smiled slightly and said: “Go on.” “Angie is as high as a kite and says how she always longed for another baby after Emma but Big Fat Ron was set against the idea.

“She’s told me not to worry about the age factor – she’s 42 and as fit as a fiddle, and can’t wait for the 13-week check-up in the Rotunda so she can tell everyone.

“To be honest Macker, it’s doing my head in. I mean, look at me. I’m 51, old enough to be a grandfather, let alone a first-timer. I can’t look after myself, let alone look after a child, and I don’t possess any paternal instincts. Macker, you’ve been there, you’ve seen it, is it all that it’s cut out to be?”

Macker paused, took out a Rizla wrapper, which he placed between his thin lips and licked slowly. He then opened his tobacco pouch, fingered out some tobacco, and carefully executed one of his super-slim roll-ups.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go out the back. I want to show you something.” It was a chilly night, but clear, and Macker led the way out to rear end of Foley’s beer garden, which was on a rise.

Facing northwest, he said: “Vinny, do you see the crescent of the moon over there towards Finglas? Beside it, that shining star is Mercury. Look closer, and you can just make out the a cluster of stars, they’re called Pleiades.” Vinny squinted hard as he looked skywards. It was, he had to admit, a spectacular sight.

“Whenever I need to remind myself of how insignificant we all are on this little planet of ours, I look up at the night sky and marvel at the wonder of it all,” continued Macker.

“And, when your child is born, you too will marvel at the wonder of it all. Unlike the heavens, this will be a star you can reach out and touch. Share the joy with Angie, old friend, because it will be like no other.”

Bets of the Week

1pt each-way Pádraig Harrington in Quail Hollow Championship (35/1, Boylesports)

1pt each-way Won In The Dark in Rabobank Champion Hurdle (33/1, Stan James)

Vinny's Bismarck

2pt lay Leinster (+7 pts) to beat Munster in Heineken Cup (10/11, general, liability 2pts)