the way we live now

Wandered into the Cafe Des Beaux Parvenus in the Newbridge Silverware building.
The place was packed.
Glancing to my left I espied Pheonicia Lincolnshire sitting with some friends at a table near the aisle.
Our eyes met.
Being a pleasant open hearted youth, I went over and said hello.
"Oh hello James," she said airily. "Now off with you. We've finished all the food. There's nothing for you here."
It was said jovially but with intent.
I smiled and moved on.
That was rum, I thought to myself. Why on earth did she say that?
I'm telling you folks.
I'm likeable.
That woman normally loves me.
A thought struck me.
Recently Pheonicia Lincolnshire had emailed me inviting me to a fundraiser for the homeless.
And knowing that she was a local party organiser for Ireland's governing party Fine Gael, the most virulently anti Catholic political organisation in Europe, I had emailed back in high good humour the single sentence:
"Get your f--king hands off my f--king Church you fart filled f--king Fine Gael Nazi cee words."
Surely she couldn't have held that against me?
If you had been in the Newbridge Silverware cafe on this fine wintery afternoon you might have seen an exceptionally handsome poet picking his way between the tables.
Not for the first time his gentle pre-raphaelite features bore an expression of mild bemusement.