October
JuneOldie but goodie
The following story has been one of my a favourites at dinner parties, or whenever a group of storytellers gather.
However, a word of warning. I was quite disconcerted when, some years after the event, I heard a stand-up comedian use the same tagline, in a different story, which raised doubts in my mind if in fact I had been the victim of a mischievous little old Irish lady who seized an opportunity at my expense.
Or was it genuine Irish idiom and the comedian’s gag a coincidence?
Either way, I believe it makes a good little story.
My wife and I were on the first of eight Ambassador Racing Tours we have enjoyed since retiring.
Included on the itinerary of our UK, Ireland and French journey was a two-day tour around the picturesque Ring of Kerry on the rugged west coast of Ireland.
Our overnight stop was in a place called Baltimore — a tiny fishing village boasting a very comfortable four-star hotel on the headland overlooking the windswept Atlantic to the west, and the village below.
After a comfortable night’s sleep, I rose early and wandered down to the hotel foyer at least two hours before breakfast and the resumption of our tour.
I encountered a fellow traveller and after brief greetings suggested an early morning walk-down the hill to the village.
It was a brisk morning, the sun not yet surmounting the mountains behind us to the east.
The Atlantic looked grey and forbidding, but the dozen or so tiny coloured fishing boats lay either peacefully protected at anchor behind the stone wall breakwater or beached on the pebbly foreshore.
As we walked, and having a common racing and punting interest, the conversation soon turned to our favourite pastime, and the fact that every little village or town we visited seemed to have its local bookmaker shop, usually not too far from the equally mandatory Irish pub.
We decided when next we stopped in such a village or town we might have a bit of punting fun. But we needed some sort of form guide.
We found a quaint little newsagent which appeared to be the only establishment open at that hour.
The little bell over the door heralded our arrival, and a diminutive, portly lady appeared from the back of the tiny shop, wearing a long black gown with matching top and grey hair tied in a bun.
"Top o’ the morning to yer gentlemen." Lovely Irish brogue.
"Good morning to you, madam. We are looking for a newspaper which gives the best coverage of horse racing, fields and so on. You seem to have a vast array of papers here. Which do you recommend?"
"Do you want yesterday’s races or today’s?"
"Today’s, please."
"Well, you’ll have to come back tomorrow."
Brighton (Qld)