A load of bull..?
29.11.07
It wasn’t exactly a Friday
night like any other, for in a bar in rural Inishowen
there was something strange going on.
The poster simply said ‘Darts for Turkeys,’ and right
away I knew I’d have to go and see this for myself. I
mean how did they hold the darts? Was this some kind of
death row blow-out for them in the run-up to Christmas?
As I approached the bar I had a sudden feeling that
maybe it wouldn’t be just turkeys though. What if this
was the kind of bar you’d see in one of Gary Larsson’s
Far Side cartoons and there were all sorts of animals
there?
I needed a disguise. But what? I rooted around in the
car and found a brown envelope. “Perfect,” I said to
myself. “I’ll hold it between my lips and if anyone
asks, I’ll say I’m a duck and this is my bill.” |
 |
When I opened the door I
was glad of the disguise. There was all sorts of
farmyard animals in the place, and only one human I
could see and he was standing behind the bar.
I waddled up to order a drink taking one of the few last
vacant bar stools and hoping I could get a good vantage
point to see the dart board.
To the left of me sat two horses and in front of them
two large buckets of water. One of the horses kept
trying to force a bucket of water on the other.
“Go on, just the one, it’s one for the road, the last
one honestly, go on, go on.”
The other however kept refusing, and I knew there and
then it was obviously true that you could lead a horse
to water but you couldn’t make him drink.
On the other side of me there were a couple of gossiping
bovines who prattled on and on. Every now and then they
shot a sneering look across towards me. Those looks
weren’t only for me though and when a sheep rambled past
a few seconds later they began to snigger until milk
came down their noses. “Did you see her… mutton dressed
as lamb…”
I turned away from the snotty cows, ordered a drink and
asked the bar man about the darts.
“Ah they’re great craic altogether, the turkeys are
useless at darts. They can’t get a grip on them at all
and anyway they are too wee and the dart board is too
high. They cheat like anything, try to get closer to the
board and cross the throwing line so every throw they
take is a fowl throw!”
He added that one of them did manage to hit the bull
once, but said the bull who was sitting three tables
away, wasn’t best pleased and wrecked the place. Before
he could say any more a pig, wearing a white hat and
covered in flour, sat down at the bar and ordered a
drink.
“What’s the story with the flour?” the bar man asked.
“Ah,” said the pig, “I’ve been bacon all day.”
The cows headed across the room towards the fire after
one declared she was ‘fresian,’ and the bar man turned
around to talk to me again.
“If you want to see something better than the turkeys
playing darts, you should come on the night we have the
pool for turkeys. The place is always jam-packed,
there’s always a cue!”
“You’d need a ticket for that night,” he added, and then
pointed towards a goose heading out the door saying he
was the one to get tickets from at good prices.
I wasn’t up for any wild goose chases, so I sat for a
while watching two dogs in the corner playing snap until
the darts started. |
The bar man was right. They
were useless. The third dart went so far astray it flew
towards me at the bar.
The whole room shouted together “Duck,” but it took me
too long to realise it was me they were calling to.
The dart hit me on the head and I fell over banging my
head.
Next thing I knew I awoke slumped over my keyboard and
realised that once again I had dozed off while typing up
the local notes section.
I looked down at the last line I had typed – ‘Friday
night, darts for turkeys.’
“Hmmm, I wonder,” I said to myself… |
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A DROP OF
PORTER is
the weekly
column of
Inishowen
Independent
editor,
Liam Porter. |
|
