Of Bogs and bandits

Wandered down the hill from the apartment towards the Old Town today carrying a bottle of bleach and a bog brush. Marl had told me to unblock the toilet before I opened up today. I had come home last night and told her that the bog was bunged up after a fat tourist had done something unspeakable. Truthfully, and between you and me, it was me, and I had hoped to get her to go down and clean it out, but as she was intending to watch Star Trek at home, the job fell back to me.

I then wanted David to do it, but he had mysteriously developed Ebola virus or something and taken to his bed. I decided to visit Vincents Corner Bar on the way in, and got some funny looks as I sat there with three pints in front of me and a bottle of Generalissimo Franco's best bleach and the bog brush. I think they were expecting me to ask for a small glass to make my own chaser.

Marl wobbled in the bar later to tell me that David was up and about. Apparently it wasn't Ebola virus, but rather a spider bite that made his leg swell up. It seems that the swelling vanished over the previous couple of hours but he was still feeling too poorly sick to do any work today. The net result was that I did a double-shift until our night time girl came in.

We used to have a little weasel-like bloke called Bobby doing the night shift, but he was always pissed by the time he started his shift, and so was never able to stop the till being robbed. At least that's what he used to tell Marl had happened regularly when the till was down by the whole day's takings (€40 or so I think). The previous owners of the bar refused to ever have any woman work nights on her own, but Marl and me think it's a great idea because the robbers can get an eyeful of a good-looking girl as they rob the bar, so they will be less likely to stab her, and more to the point, they will be far less likely to smash the place up... magic idea...