The Auld Yarns thread

The Major had given up the Galloping at that stage

A friend of a friend is a known advocate for addiction services / AA in Cork. A successful business man and family man.

Except it’s all a cover. He manages to hold it together all year to go on the bender of all benders for 10 days every year. Any form of drink and drugs… He has been locked up and bailed out numerous times so has taken it abroad in recent years. First to Portugal with my friend who barely got him home after he sold his passport. This year he took off to Beirut :person_shrugging:t2:… Emptied the business bank account. Had his passport ‘stolen’ again… Hotel staff had locked him into his room as he was gone clane banasa. Then got deported but was not physically put on the plane and didn’t land in Heathrow where a sister was waiting… With the help of irish consolate and garda liaison he was found a week later and landed back yesterday and forgiven by partner who is also his business partner :person_shrugging:t2:

He’ll be back to preaching sobriety next week but I’m sure he’s already planning next year’s trip.


Sounds like a good pal to have…could keep you in craic, or on the straight and narrow, depending on your mood…

Was he giving it big licks on Twitter over helping out over Covid?

You are either going out or your not


I’m not sure.

This person is in the IT / computer restoration bidness.

The owners of my local in Leitrim has a foreign lad called Sam living next door to the pub. He is mad to get working and often asked pub owner if he had any work going.

So the owner decides to bring him to the bog to foot turf.

He didn’t hear from him much after that so enquired in a nearby shop if Sam had been around. The shop owner confirmed that he had seen him and that he had placed an advert in the window offering manual labour services.

On closer inspection of the advert, especially the two last words, explained his distance from the pub owner.

‘No bog’


That’s an old auld yarn…

Has been told a few times here, even.

There’s a wall on the hill in Loughrea where the Brazilians would congregate every morning for casual work, like the Irish boys in England once upon a time. A few got the bog scalding. Many were dropped off in the wonderful peatland wilderness for 8 to 12 hours and from there on they had signs saying No Bog.

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It’s a good one, but I heard it before

The Scottie Scheffler story reminds me of a story my first cousin told at a family gathering in Raheny the same evening Sophie Toscan Du Plantier was murdered.

He had been working at that summer’s Irish Open Golf tournament at Druid’s Glen, possibly in one of the merchandising stalls or something like that. Anyway my cousin had no interest in golf.

One of the days it suddenly starts pissing raining and a man runs into the hut or cabin my cousin was in charge of in order to take cover from the pissing rain. This area was out of bounds to non-staff.

My cousin says to the man “you can’t come in here, it’s out of bounds to the public”. The man responds “ah come on, mate, it’s pissing raining”. My cousin insists that the man has to leave the area and go back out into the rain.

The man goes back out into the rain. A few minutes later when the rain has abated, there are autograph hunters all around the by now quite wet man.

“Who’s that man? Is he important?” my cousin asks to another member of staff.

“Oh, that’s Ernie Els. He’s one of the best golfers in the world.”



Your cousin sounds like the dogmatic type. Would that be a common family trait?


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Heard a good one last night about a local character from back in the day. He used to be leaving out nets overnight catching fish, was caught multiple times and eventually got a custodial sentance of 5 days in prison for repeat offending and failure to pay fines.

Walks into his cell and meets his cell mate - cell mate asks what was he in for? “Illegal fishing, what about you?”

Cell mate says I got in a fight and stabs a man a dozen times, to which me man replies “was the knife blunt?”


A few years ago a lady from the Ennis area moved to my local town.

She went into a local shop. The owner, a lady in her late 70’s decides to find out find out her story masked behind a friendly demeanor.

So why did you move here?

I stabbed my best friend twenty times and I just got out of jail.

Ok. Well you’re very welcome.


That’s the Clare crowd for you.