A Christmas Story
Went down to the Christmas Market with the Barfly and the Goth last night. It would appear that the Gurrier has his spies everywhere, although I would have thought that the IFSC was the last place they’d follow me.
We could hear a carousel spouting out a disordant melody so that we shuddered at the gates of the market, wondering if we’d end up the protagonists in an Unexpected Tale. Should we turn back, go and get a pint in Mulligans, or would we brave the leering carny man? Myself and the Barfly were still dithering when the decision was taken forcefully from our hands. The Goth ran interference for us, leather coat flapping in the wind, screaming like a banshee, causing the carny man to cower in his canvas tent. We passed the empty spinning carousel, a depressing sight and headed for the warmth of the building. Inside it appeared that the NCAD kids had recreated the set of The Ring, to what purpose I have no idea. The stop-motion girl on the wall was giving me the shivers but I watched her, unable to turn away in case she crept out of the screen while my back was turned. The Barfly and the Goth were busy playing with the dolls house.
‘Look at the ickle pair of PVC trousers on the bed!’ said the Barfly.
‘And the ickle vinyl records!’ said the Goth.
‘G’way yis pair of pansies’ said I.
Outside our fingers and toes grew numb, the Goth was sniffling into his hankie.
‘It’s sooo bloody cold’ he moaned. A couple of angels pushed past us, feathers tickling our faces, they clutched cups of warm goodness to themselves. Obviously the citizens of the Silver City aren’t averse to a wee dram or two. The Barfly was broke and there was no point asking the Goth, so it was up to me to stump up for three mugs of mullered wine. Not bad to be honest, sweeter than the Glühwein I was drinking in Tallinn a week ago. We wandered among the stalls, clutching our wine aware that the traders were carefully avoiding our eyes. I was pacing the boards, trying to keep warm when I realised the Barfly had gotten lost among the fairy dresses, delighting in the tulle confections.
‘Another girlhood dream fulfilled’ quoth the Goth, who really shouldn’t have been saying anything at all, as he’d become entranced by the sparkly jewellery for so long that we’d had to forcibly restrain him and direct his attention to a vintage cigarette box.
‘C’mon’ I said, growing bored and irritable. ‘Time for proper pints.’
The Barfly shivered, the Goth sneezed and I strode on; my path clear, my destination sure.
