Hair of the Dog

‘Are you going to Slane, Bertie?’
‘Am I fuck, Giblets.’
‘But it’ll be your last chance to see them.’
‘Me Da said that twenty five years ago!’

So that’s what’s going on, I forgot, The Strolling Bones are playing in Slane castle tomorrow a few miles out the road. There’s definitely a buzz around town but it’s not the usual Slane buzz, too many Zimmer frames. I thought it was an outing for the Day Care Centre.
After last night’s Birthday shenanigans, I’ve taken the day off work. Giblets stayed off in sympathy and we’re sitting in McFools about to start on our third hair of the dog.

I go to Slane every year, with the exception of Madonna and U2 (I fuckin hate U2!) and once I even bought a ticket. Slane was always the opportunity to put into practice our guerrilla training, sneaking in was an obligation. No way was I buying a ticket to walk on that stolen land.

Me: So, where did you get this land?
Lord Henry Mount Charles: My ancestors fought for it, Bertie.
Me: I’ll fight you for it now!

Sometimes we’d hide in the trees, for days, and wait for them to build the fence around us, and on the day we’d climb down and go crawling through the woods in our camouflage to the gig. Them was the days!

A couple of motorised wheelchairs pass by.

‘I see Hell’s Grannies are doing the security this year.’
‘Anything’s better than those usual goons they hire!’

I’m convinced that The Strolling Bones’ P.A. System has a secret, more sinister function. Not only does it amplify the geriatric warblings of the once great band, it also sucks the life force out of the entire audience and injects it into the aging rockers through their instruments. It’s how they’ve lasted so long. Just look at Jagger, he can hardly contain the rush of youthful vibrations as he gyrates maniacally across the stage clutching his microphone/youth juice injector. And Keith Richards? He clinically died years ago, leaving the energy leeching ghoul that we know today.

‘So you’re not going, no?’
‘No.’
‘You know ManDonkey’s found an underground dried up river, it’ll get us right into the middle of the village without having to go through any checkpoints, if we leave now we can be in the gig just before The Bones come on’
‘Don’t care.’
‘That’s not like you Bertie, what’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Are ya havin' another?’
‘Yeah.’