A Galway short story from Liam Garvey who owns Galway Bay Gifts on Williamsgate Street.
If you want wit and wisdom with your gift shopping, then this is the shop for you, right beside Powell's Four Corners, opposite Garavans.
Liam is one very funny guy, an acute observer of the coming and going on the streets of Galway, and a great story-writer to boot.
His most recent tale reminded me so much of Brendan Grace, but unfortunately he never got to tell it, what a pity.
"The Races
Galway Races have been happening for a long time – 150 years in this year of 2019.
The horses, for some, are an annoying inconvenience – they would prefer not to have to bother with the equine side of things and just concentrate on the drinking and their attempts to have it off with a person of their desired gender.
I met a man this evening who had been out for a while – he stood for a time beside the wall of the shop opposite – unfortunately his equilibrium suffered anytime he moved away from the wall – it was if there was a gravity in the concrete blocks that kept him upright.
Eventually he lurched across the street and asked me in a confidential bellow if we had a toilet – I told him we have to use the pub facilities but this was no use to him as he had been ejected from the same pub, he had tried to convince the bouncer of his sobriety for some time and had received little sympathy.
“I’ll just go roun’ the corner and hava quick slash”
He came back after a few minutes and looked a little less pained.
“D’ya have any of them Claddagh rings?”
I answered in the positive – “Muchardey?” was his reply.
My price was acceptable to him and he indicated that he would purchase one for his loving wife.
“What size is she?” was a question for which he was unprepared.
“Sheezbigenuff” wasn’t a ring size that I recognised and I told him that he could be better off waiting until tomorrow – he might have a better idea of dimensions after consulting his beloved.
“No, wanna surprise her tonight” was an admirable aspiration but one I felt was a touch doomed. I could sense that his welcome home might be a silent one.
“Size sixteen, that’s what she is!” he uttered. I told him that maybe that was a dress size “Yep, thazzer size, givvus a ring”
He took out a lump of money from his pocket that could have bought most of the rings in the shop. As he was likely to make a scene if he didn’t get a ring I chose one I thought might fit, took a couple of notes from his pile and gave him the ring in a box.
“Youra gentleman an a Scholar” were his parting words.
I wonder if the ring ever made it as far as his happy abode and if so how impressed was his lucky spouse.
Race Week!"
