Friends
When you like someone.
I read recently that if you can identify a few people you have been friendly with for twenty years or upwards, you are doing something generally right. Most of the stuff anybody has ever read recently is generally bullshit, but this made me think. In particular, about people I have been friendly with for twenty years and upwards. And that is a lot of people, I am happy to say. And there’s a few at forty years and upwards which is gratifying too, and loads just after tacking around the thirty pin. So I take great heart from that.
My friends give me great pleasure. Someone once told me I treat my relations like friends and my friends like relations. Well, you can do sweet fuck-all about your relations, that’s a well known notorious fact. Only keep the fuck out of their way unless it is absolutely unavoidable and then be polite and have the car and children washed to give the bastards nothing to say.
Friends are people whose nicknames are in your mobile phone, so you can tell who is ringing you and say hello in a friendly tone of voice. Friends are people who have a folder all to themselves in your email, so that you get a moment of intense pleasure and anticipation when you see that little (1) after their name when you hit check mail.
Friends are people who look fine in their gardening clothes. Friends are people you get smashed drunk with once or twice a year just to regain your sanity and remind yourself you’re an Irishman and there’s fuck all wrong with busting your stress with a pint glass of good stout and a big fuckin’ Cuban cigar or multiples of the same in the company of like minded spirits.
Friends are people who would visit you in hospital if you were quite seriously fucked up and hooked up to a ventilator on top and a roches stores bag underneath, and keep coming back.
Friends bring back tools they’ve borrowed, as soon as possible. By fuck, relations don’t do that in my lengthy and exasperating experience, whatever is the reason.
Friends are people who you should meet as often as you possibly can and make the time to meet them as a conscious positive act.
I met a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen for twenty-seven years. It was wonderful.
I lost a friend just over two years ago. Still can’t believe he’s gone.
Friends are people you would trust to drive a boat while your kids slept below deck.
Friends are people you could trust to take your kid away shooting.
I’m already thinking of having a 50th birthday party when the time comes. To celebrate life, liquor, laughter and beating the bag. 'Caballeros y Señoritas – box cars, belt buckles and old faded Levis' will probably be the theme. Jeans and old boots will be the dress code because we all have them. Big belts and Wrangler denim shirts with the white pearly snappers because nothing less will hould back the beer bellies when the pressure come on and you’re out dancing to Paddy Quilligan singing Reuben James after seven pints, three small wans, a mighty feed of chicken kiev and a Monte Christo number 3. Paddy ’s band will hopefully belt out good country music for a few hours if the hoors have nothing better to do. We’ll all get drunk and smoke a few big fuckin’ Cuban cigars. Tony Murphy’s bus will bring the legless home. In the morning we should be all fit for the ventilator and the roches bag again if we get it fairly right.
I can actually think of about five hundred people already who will have to be there. Real men and lovely ladies. And a few wonderful kids. All friends, friends, friends of mine, I’m happy to say.
I’m thinking of doing it like the standard terms of reference for a Rathkeale wedding. If you feel welcome, you are.
Nuts
I read recently that if you can identify a few people you have been friendly with for twenty years or upwards, you are doing something generally right. Most of the stuff anybody has ever read recently is generally bullshit, but this made me think. In particular, about people I have been friendly with for twenty years and upwards. And that is a lot of people, I am happy to say. And there’s a few at forty years and upwards which is gratifying too, and loads just after tacking around the thirty pin. So I take great heart from that.
My friends give me great pleasure. Someone once told me I treat my relations like friends and my friends like relations. Well, you can do sweet fuck-all about your relations, that’s a well known notorious fact. Only keep the fuck out of their way unless it is absolutely unavoidable and then be polite and have the car and children washed to give the bastards nothing to say.
Friends are people whose nicknames are in your mobile phone, so you can tell who is ringing you and say hello in a friendly tone of voice. Friends are people who have a folder all to themselves in your email, so that you get a moment of intense pleasure and anticipation when you see that little (1) after their name when you hit check mail.
Friends are people who look fine in their gardening clothes. Friends are people you get smashed drunk with once or twice a year just to regain your sanity and remind yourself you’re an Irishman and there’s fuck all wrong with busting your stress with a pint glass of good stout and a big fuckin’ Cuban cigar or multiples of the same in the company of like minded spirits.
Friends are people who would visit you in hospital if you were quite seriously fucked up and hooked up to a ventilator on top and a roches stores bag underneath, and keep coming back.
Friends bring back tools they’ve borrowed, as soon as possible. By fuck, relations don’t do that in my lengthy and exasperating experience, whatever is the reason.
Friends are people who you should meet as often as you possibly can and make the time to meet them as a conscious positive act.
I met a friend recently whom I hadn’t seen for twenty-seven years. It was wonderful.
I lost a friend just over two years ago. Still can’t believe he’s gone.
Friends are people you would trust to drive a boat while your kids slept below deck.
Friends are people you could trust to take your kid away shooting.
I’m already thinking of having a 50th birthday party when the time comes. To celebrate life, liquor, laughter and beating the bag. 'Caballeros y Señoritas – box cars, belt buckles and old faded Levis' will probably be the theme. Jeans and old boots will be the dress code because we all have them. Big belts and Wrangler denim shirts with the white pearly snappers because nothing less will hould back the beer bellies when the pressure come on and you’re out dancing to Paddy Quilligan singing Reuben James after seven pints, three small wans, a mighty feed of chicken kiev and a Monte Christo number 3. Paddy ’s band will hopefully belt out good country music for a few hours if the hoors have nothing better to do. We’ll all get drunk and smoke a few big fuckin’ Cuban cigars. Tony Murphy’s bus will bring the legless home. In the morning we should be all fit for the ventilator and the roches bag again if we get it fairly right.
I can actually think of about five hundred people already who will have to be there. Real men and lovely ladies. And a few wonderful kids. All friends, friends, friends of mine, I’m happy to say.
I’m thinking of doing it like the standard terms of reference for a Rathkeale wedding. If you feel welcome, you are.
Nuts
posted by The Bolted Nut | 1:06 AM
1 Comments:
Someone once used the friends / relations analogy on me too. I liked it.
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