Without taking any notice whatever of what her pug mutt was doing, which was lifting its stumpy leg on the skirting board, the lady from Greystones gave the door such an unmerciful slamming that plaster fell from the ceiling and the bare light bulb swung back and forth on its flex. And in a delayed action the diploma, already hanging askew, plummeted to the floor, the glass in the frame smashing. Good god. At Lois’s it was the stink of turpentine and squishy paint tubes, and now it’s scalpels and the stink of alcohol. Out on a bloody innocent walk. I have just time to flee this sorry mess and get to the barber to have my non pubic hair cut for tea. An alarm clock loudly ticking on a shelf among her bottles. If one can diplomatically get my damn fly buttons done up, my socks on, shoes laced. I will ruddy well gallop out of here. And join the rest of the field who must, by now, have roused a fox. As my chiropodist friend is now bent over against her damp wall. Hair falling forward around her face. Her thumb going back and forth on her red fingernails.
‘O god. I was so lonely. I’ve never done a thing like this before. I’ll be driven out. Into the streets. The likes of her will have the scourge of the tongues upon me.’
‘Well hypocrisy being what it is these days it isn’t exactly the type of tootsy wootsy treatment of which a member of an older generation, I think, would approve.’
‘Are you trying to make a joke of this.’
‘No. Certainly not.’
‘And you don’t sound French. You’re English. And the likes of you will be gone by the mail boat. How would you know what could happen to me.’
‘Well the likes of me thinks you do have a very good point there. Yes. I am very very English. But please don’t think I can’t appreciate your difficulty.’
‘And don i you think that I do this all the time.’
‘O no. Of course not. But perhaps, please, you might tell me how much it is please.’
‘The treatment is four shillings a single foot. And seven and six for both.’
‘I mean, I fear madam, that I must at least ask, in view of the situation, is there an extra charge or something to that effect.’
‘Are you trying to insult me. I’m a real chiropodist.’
‘Yes of course you are. And I assure you.’
I am
A very
Satisfied
Customer
22
Shoelaces still loose, one reeled out of the chiropodist’s quite apoplectic. And totally unprepared for what was about to unfold. With the lady of Greystones lurking in a doorway. And then as I innocently passed and stopped to put up a foot to tie a bow in one’s footwear, she jumped out shouting, and with her mutt growling and barking, both hurried after me down the street. Clearly she and her ugly yapping canine were together criminally insane. Her umbrella pointing. Everyone hearing her extremely well enunciated shouts.
‘That gentleman is a debauché. He is unchaste. He is licentious.’
The use of the term gentleman attracted much more attention than the simple word man would have done. And I found myself actually running outright across the Green. The park bloody attendant choosing this moment to tell me it was against the rules to run. Somehow one didn’t want to discourteously ignore his very polite good intentioned caution. And as I slowed to a rapid walk the bloody mad lady catching up once more.
‘I saw you. Don’t think I didn’t. You Catholic. All you filthy Catholics.’
Of course not even a Protestant could flee back into the Shelbourne with this diatribe following. Especially right in the bloody thick of the afternoon tea time swarm. I skipped over Dawson Street nearly being run down by a tram. And still unable to shake off my pursuers. Thought I might duck down the steps to the Country Shop for tea but it was just the bloody sort of place such as the better bred insane might choose to hang out in, amid the Aran Island sweaters and socks and good nourishing cakes and scones.
‘There he goes. That’s him. Necromancer who thinks he will escape the wrath of the gods. And I vouchsafe, as my redeemer liveth, that he shall not.’
On the pavement one did make a spurt. In and out folk, until of course knocking a little old lady flat. Tears were on the verge of descending my cheeks. There I was. Lifting the poor dear up to her feet. And my adversary again close up pointing her umbrella.
‘Rid us of evil.’
Had one had one’s Purdey barrels handy I do honestly think I would, quite without hesitation, rid the earth of her and her mutt. But just as one was despairing, a begging gang of newsboys collected. And I pointed to my adversary.
‘She, my dear fellows, is the richest lady in Dublin chock full of halfcrowns.’
Hurrying another forty paces. I finally escaped from her sight. Nipping into an auction room. And there the other side the gathering, was Horatio the actor. A beaming young auctioneer calling out the bids. Horatio waving up his catalogue to rather adamandy signal his purchase. Then another. And another. My god he must be furnishing an entire large house. Ah he smiles at me. As he appears to be doing at everyone watching him. And now that I’ve again come back to my senses momentarily, I do think it is absolutely ruddy time to escape round the corner for a haircut, shampoo and scalp massage. But as I paused to examine close up some of the auction items for sale, the young auctioneer down from his dais, suddenly literally was reeling in a state of near collapse against the wall. As I manoeuvred over closer. To overhear his hysterical conversation with Horatio.
‘But sir, you did, you clearly did bid.’
‘I was declaiming sir, as I rehearsed my Macbeth and was merely signalling my words with my arm.’
‘Good grief. But I’ve knocked down everything to you. I’m ruined. The entire auction will have to be held over again.’
It was reassuring to find that others were having their troubles too. But as one looked about, O dear god. She’s found me. Just as I am to go out she’s come in. To denounce me.
‘There he is. I point him out for you all to see. The wicked. The unvirtuous. The evil doer, accursed.’
Of course her words were taken in the present situation to mean poor old Horatio, who was already in some hot water. With even some pushing and shoving taking place. Which thank god was causing someone to take a humorous view. Crashing about the place laughing. And in the mêlée someone did step on her damn mutt. Who let out such a yowl. And coupled with the heated debate going on with the auctioneer and Horatio and the lady from Greystones loudly summoning the president of the league for the prevention of cruelty to Protestant animals, I slipped out back into the street. Darkness having fallen. Hopping as quick as I could around the corner into Kildare Street and smartly doing a turn on my left articulated ankle into the barber’s. Who I must say seemed happy to see me.
‘How would you like it styled this time Mr Kildare, sir, the usual. Or the latest.’
Of course I couldn’t remember for the life of me what my usual was. Nor did one much care for the latest. Which, recent accusations being what they were, might make me look like a rapist. And one suggested merely a tidying up. And as my barber clipped me carefully about the ears and brought down the big whirling brushes from the ceiling to spin upon my head, I was regaining my senses. I opened a recent edition of The Field and was actually staring at a photograph of the hunt gathered in front of, of all places, Andromeda Park. And just as I was lapsing into some delicious reverie that here in front of me was evidence of one’s status in the world, lo and bloody behold. A tap tapping came a knocking on the barber’s street window. There she was. Her hat lopsided on her head. Rapping her umbrella. Staring and pointing and audible enough.
‘There sits he. Wallower in carnality.’