Toryboys playing at doing good deeds.
You’re a good man Flatty.
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He is no doubt but that fucker Matty seems a right bad 'un, up to @KinvarasPassion levels of roguery.
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Flatty and Matty home makeovers. I’d watch that
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Is there any of those charities that help old Irish people in Manchester Flatty. Maybe send them his way and leave it at that
Was it grandpa bucket ye were calling to by any chance?
Trying to finish him off with rancid cans of Guinness.
Billy’d had enough of yer microaggressing.
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There is, that’s the charity I raised money for when I did the Galway bay swim the first time. That’s not a bad idea.
Flatly
Did it dawn on you that Matty might be having a laugh at you while sipping a cocktail
Matty should look after his own oul lad
I’ll forward this to him.
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Is Billy’s flat at a strategically important location for a future development by any chance? KP wouldn’t pull this stroke
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Poor oul Billy from Louth, everytime he was given himself a good seeing to, rap rap rap on the window!!!
He had an oul topless calender up on the wall. It’s the only thing in the flat that looks new, which is why I noticed it.
He’s 89 he reckons.
I don’t think he’s long for this world. He seemed content enough bar vexed at the busybody.
I’d have hoped to get him out for a tea or a pint, but he was having none of it.
I may drop by at the weekend, but I’ll leave it at once a week.
It’s a bit grim tbh.
I used throw meals up to a lad near us back home who was sort of the same, but his house was clean.
This flat is bad enough that the smell doesn’t leave you. I thought my young fella would be shocked, but he just shrugged it off.
I had a nasty half waking dream about dying anonymously yesterday morning.
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In the 90s I’d sometimes have a few pints in a pub in Southgate, North London which showed the gaa games courtesy of Setanta. I’d see this oul codger in a well-worn suit sitting there on his own watching the games. He was from Cavan. Never married, worked in construction and was in London over 60 years. He was sent off to earn as he was the oldest. Used to send money home until the parents died. Lost touch with his brothers and sisters who were all married and living back in Cavan. I’d ask now and then, would he ever go back. ‘No, sure who’d want me’, he’d always reply.
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I absolutely hate stories like that. Really hate them. A life of punishment and sacrifice and no-one gives a fuck.
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When I was a kid down in Connemara there was a man who used to work for/help out the grandparents. He lived in a little mobile home down a boreen in a field they owned. He’d tip over to Roundstone for a few rums (Seadog - I only remember as it was unusual at the time to me when most men drank Guinness or whiskey) at weekend. He would always be in grandparents house watching telly. He loved to watch telly. He was sort of adopted by wider family when my grandparents died and they continued to look after him.
As a kid I was equally scared and fascinated by him.
When I was older I asked about his back story and when he was about 10 his parents died and a crowd from the orphanage came to take him and his sister into care. He ran away before they could take him and fended for himself before being taken in years later by my grandparents. His sister was adopted in due course. Shortly after he died in his seventies she came looking for him. She was shown where he lived and worked, he was loved by our family and buried beside my grandparents. She found some comfort in that I think.
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