Victim Impact Report.

When I’m not doing whatever it is I do, my hobby is to ring the bells of Christchurch Cathedral, Dublin. Quasi-Mojo usually hangs around outside if he comes along. The push factors of the belfry are that, on a practical level, the stone staircase to the belfry makes him uneasy (it’s “dark and itchy” apparently); and on a philosophical level, he thinks it’s unwise to institutionalise neuroses. The pull factors of the area outside that, on a practical level, there are things to clime on; and on a philosophical level, there’s a pussy-cat in the grounds with whom he has a special relationship (these two reasons are actually one and the same, as they say, and I note the misuse of the terms ‘practical’ and ‘philosophical’).

After rehearsal last night I went over to the pub for a couple of Cydona’s and some socialising even though I was a little tired and something in me just wanted to go home and have a nice bath. I caught up with Quasi-Mojo as I was walking back to where I had parked. He was leaning from the top of the fence smoking what was no-doubt a post-coital cigarette, and before I even got close to him, he yelled to me.

“It’s a treacherous world Horse! It’s a treacherous, sordid, and confounding planet. The seediest I’ve ever visited.”
“It could be worse my friend,” I responded, “tell me what’s happened. Did you break-up?”
He jumped down to walk with me.
“Hmm. Patronising, insensitive and unbecoming.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right Quasi-Mojo. Please accept my apology as I accept your admonishment, but something untoward has happened I presume. Pray tell comrade.”
“Well I’ve had some time to consider how to break it to you, and this is what I’ve come up with. It’s a Limerick.

I don’t like the way Buckley smells,
And a hunch-back could ring better bells.
You get on my nerves,
But you didn’t deserve
To get the back wheel of your bike with the new block that cost you forty five euro last week, nicked while you were across the road drinking two Cydonas and thinking you’d like to be in bed.”

“Aw crap. Seriously?”
“Yeah seriously, you really didn’t deserve it. Crappy ringing tonight by the way. How are we going to get home now?”

I got the bus to the scene of the crime today and brought with me an old wheel. I shared the journey with about twenty-five Spanish teens who made the journey quite uncomfortable for the rest of us who were vying for space, standing in the aisles trying to avoid the idiot with the bicycle wheel. As they stampeded off the bus one of them stopped in front of me (delaying her colleagues), put out her hand and said, “Conrazulasions.” Having allowed my surprise and reluctance to engage with her to register, I extended my bike-filth fingers to shake her hand and she said, “You are the only man in Dublin!” I didn’t respond verbally but did get visibly embarrassed. Some lady apologised to me on her behalf, and as I went to find a seat a guy said to me, “You should get off with her mate.” I did respond to that, but it was so mumbled that it won’t have made any sense to anyone.

When I got the wheel on the bike I shared an accomplished nod with Quasi-Mojo - not knowing but secretly feeling that it wasn’t going to work very well (which it hasn’t done). He jumped up on my back wrapping his arms around my neck and gleefully shouted, “Conrazulasions!”