beware the old self pity

Woke troubled by niggling regrets.
That old gag.
I'm in the wrong place. It's all over. What's the point. Etc etc.
Particularly etc etc.
Afternooned with the Lildebeest in Newbridge.
I was hatching a coffee while she read The Sun. A shadow fell across our table.
"Do you mind if I join you?" said a hardy looking chap in sunglasses.
I looked at him warily enough. Then recognition dawned.
"Ronnie Taylor," sez I. "As I live and breathe."
Ron was an old school mate. Along with Mugs Martin he'd been my best pal. We were the three musketeers. I was the pacifist one. Interestingly both himself and Mugs now hold high ranking positions in various armies of the west. Ron is a bit more secretive about his. Because it's British Special Forces.
Ooops.
That just slipped out.
But they've both got careers.
And what have I got?
Ah pass the violins...
Anyhoo, down sat my old friend.
The Mammy began to chat to him amiably enough. I was still wallowing in self pity and not up to much chat even with an old friend. So the Mammy held the fort. Their conversation was fascinating in a way. She was asking him all sorts of questions. And Ron was lying to her like it was going out of fashion.
"Where are you living now?" sez the Mammy.
"Southampton," sez Ron.
I stifled a guffaw.
I wanted to say: "More like Holy Loch Top Secret Submarine Base in Scotland," but I held my whisht.
Presently Ron made his excuses and left.
The Mammy leaned across the table.
"Did you see him lying about Southampton?" she exclaimed. "I'd say he's never even been there. He was just squirming more and more at everything I asked him. And he no more knew anything about Southampton than I do."
I explained to her Ron's position, and that Brit intelligence recommends to their Irish members not to advertise their real addresses.
The Mammy was moderately fascinated.
"I wonder was he in Iraq," she mused.
"He'll swear he wasn't," I told her bleakly. "Which means he definitely was."
Back in Kilcullen we strolled down main street.
Frank Mitchell the dog warden let a shout at me as we passed.
"I hear you're seeing things again," sez he cheerfully. "Can you not tell the difference between a few kiddies balloons and UFO's?"
I asked him to wait a minute while I ducked over to the car, retrieved one of my DVD's of the aliens, and proffered it up.
"Have a look at that Frank," sez I, "and then come back and talk to me about the balloons."
"Am I going to have to pay for this?" he demanded.
"No," I told him, "at the moment I can barely even give the damn things away."
Lil and me wandered on.
From the flower shop John Joe Dowling gave us a cheery wave. The Mammy disappeared inside to order flowers for my sister in law Jackie's wedding anniversary. At Eilis Philips' hairdressing salon, the proprietor emerged for a brief discussion with the Mammy about life in general. I waited moodily for them to finish. Eilis said: "How are the aliens James?" The direness of my mood was getting harder to maintain.
A little further on, outside the vegetable shop, Pat Wixtead grabbed my arm.
"James," she said. "You don't know me but I know you. My niece wants your phone number. She's after seeing something she thinks might be your lights in the sky."
"When did she see it?" I asked.
"Last Tuesday," sez Pat.
I was rather enthused for a moment. That would make a third confirmed sighting.
As we walked on I turned to the Mammy.
"Meeting those four," sez I, "is the best reminder I could get of what living here is all about. Sometimes I forget just how good it is here."
The lady known as Lil agreed.
"I probably haven't been at my best today," I told her cautiously.
"No you haven't," she shot back.
"Okay," sez I. "For the next month I'm not going to complain about anything you ask me to do. For a full month whatever you want done I'll look after it."
"Alright," said the Liller.
"So, what do you think?" sez I.
"I think it's going to be a good month," quoth she.