Ugly and loaded is one thing. Ugly and skint is not a combo that’s much in demand when it comes to, like, mate selection, especially in these financially challenging times
IF THERE’S, LIKE, one single person who sums up the amazing riches to rags story of Ireland over the past five years, then it’s got to be my friend Oisinn. In 2007, he was on the Sunday Times Rich List, between some dude who manufactured scaffolding poles and Westlife. He had a women’s fragrance on the morket called Eau d’Affluence and a range of scented holy waters, a gaff on Shrewsbury Road, aportments in London, New York and Dubai, a part-share in a private jet and a property portfolio as thick as foundation maths.
Now, he’s bankrupt, back living with his old pair and driving his old dear’s Ford Ka. But the most embarrassing thing of all – the thing that I’d imagine has poor Father Fehily spinning like a rotisserie chicken in his grave – is that he’s doing odd jobs for cash in hand, mostly – get this – dismantling decking.
It’s, like, the new thing apparently. Back in the day – and I’m hordly the first person to point this out – every focker and their neighbour was having decking installed. Now, apparently, everyone’s having it removed, either because it reminds them of their, like, shamefully decadent past, or because they’ve finally realised that we live in a country where it pisses rain three hundred and fifty days a year and their decking is now a permanent shelter for rats rather than a place to enjoy a bowl of stuffed olives and a bottle of Cheateauneuf du Plonk on a balmy May evening.
Keep it up between ourselves – because he’s technically not supposed to be earning? – but The Big O has honestly never been busier. Six jobs last week and another four next week.
Last Sunday, he had a big one on in Cornelscourt – thing was like a focking bandstand – and he asked the Rossmeister General to give him a dig-out, which I was more than happy to do.
So there I was, two o’clock in the afternoon, with a hammer in my hand, doing literally manual labour. The idea of it. I suppose this is what they meant when they said we were all going to have to adjust. Still, it was a good excuse to catch up with the dude.
“Is this what they call a metaphor?” I went.
He was like, “I’ve no idea. I was on the senior cup team as well, remember?”
“It kind of feels like one, though, doesn’t it? The Fall of Deckland.” I pulled out a nail with the claw end of the hammer – ah, you pick these things up quickly enough. “How are things anyway?” because I still feel guilty for persuading him to come back from, like, Monaco to face his basically creditors.
Sometimes I think he had the right idea, leaving the X5 with the keys and all his bills in it in the short-term cor pork at Dublin Airport and just pegging it – the full Park and Hide.
He shrugged. “I’m fine. Bit weird living back with the old pair again. Obviously can’t bring birds back!”
Not that there’s been many of them recently. I haven’t seen a bird so much as look at him in the last six months. Ugly and loaded is one thing. Ugly and skint is not a combo that’s much in demand when it comes to, like, mate selection, especially in these financially challenging times.
“I feel, I don’t know, kind of bad,” I went. “For talking you into coming back to this hole. Maybe if I hadn’t stuck my Shiva Rose in, left you over there in – I don’t know, whatever country Monaco is even in.
“You might have been happier. I mean, look at you, Dude. I never thought I’d see you wearing an actual tool belt. Jesus, I could weep for you.”
He could see me filling up, roysh, so he laid down his hammer, put his hand on my shoulder and went, “Dude, it was the best decision I ever made”.
“You can’t mean that, Oisinn. People like us weren’t meant know how to operate power tools. We went to Castlerock College. Jesus, it’s like the whole country’s trapped in some kind of nightmare and it’s never going to focking end?”
“I’m happy, Ross. I mean, this is the first honest work I’ve ever done – even though it’s obviously off the books. I love it. Being out in all weathers. It’s kind of sobering. I generally start early . . .”
“How early are we talking here?” “Half-eight some mornings.” “Jesus Christ!” “I even bring a packed lunch.” “A packed lunch?” “Yeah.” “Like you see bus drivers eating?” He laughed. “I suppose so, yeah.” “No one can tell me that’s right. I’m telling you, Seán FitzPatrick, Johnny Ronan, Seán Dunne – I know they’re all mates of my old man’s, but if I ever see any of them out, they’re getting . . .” “Decked!” Oisinn went. I ended up having to laugh then. No real choice.
“Look,” he went, “I wish it was still 2007. Who doesn’t? And, yeah, I never expected these hands to ever have to do a hord day’s work. I mean, that’s how we were all raised. But I’d rather be here than at that card table in that casino where you found me.” “You can’t mean that.” “I do. What was I going to do, spend the rest of my days on the run? Living under that ridiculous assumed name?” Johnny Keith – after Hayes and Wood, his two all-time heroes on the rugby field.
“But Dude, no offence,” I went, “but you’ve been left with pretty much fock-all.” He nodded at me – doing basically Trojan work with the hammer – and went, “That’s not true. I’ve got the best group of friends in the world.
“The goys are in Kielys, by the way. Want to know do we fancy heading in to watch the England v France match.” I shook my head.
“We’re some advertisement for private schooling, aren’t we? Fionn unemployed and too well educated to even think about getting another job. Christian redundant. You bankrupt. JP doing repossessions. Me shredding documents. You’d have to ask, where did it all go wrong?” “Shut up,” he went. “Let’s pull up 10 more panels. Then we’ll hit the pub.”