The unwelcome return of Ann D’Another Thing!

Back in Galway at the end of a recent marathon of trips to England, and I’m tired. Dripping dribble tired. Deflated-balloon-sculpture-held-together-by-chewing-gum tired.

When I’m like this, I don’t trust myself with other human beings. To be honest, I don’t even trust myself with myself. I become the crazy guy walking down the street speaking out loud by mistake, like a latterday defrosted Austin Powers. Did I really let that vile snippet slip out of my gob? Whoops!

Still, life goes on and today I have to go into town and sort a couple of things at the bank.

There’s a bit of a queue, but not the worst I’ve ever seen. In front of me a woman in a cardigan styled more for grannie than mum is leaning on the queue counter, shaking her head and tutting. Turning to me she says “there’s only two on. All those empty windows. Tshush.”

I nod, smile and understand how she feels, because that’s the way I sometimes behave when I’ve the enthusiasm to grumble. Right now, I’ve just about the energy required to breathe and blink at the same time, so I look away, avoiding further conversation.

At the Business and Commercial Customers window, a Chinese woman is engaged in a dispute with the teller. The woman in front of me turns to watch the altercation in such a manner as to let everyone else in the queue know she’s watching the altercation. As I am still non-verbally making myself unavailable for chit-chat, she now turns to the man in front of her in the queue.

“Terrible isn’t it. She’s being very rude.”

 nable to avoid overhearing, I assume that the woman in front of me is referring to the teller. After all, she’s just been giving out about the lack of tellers available at the windows, so surely she’s now feeling sorry for the other customer?

Yer man in front of her doesn’t seem to want to engage her in conversation either, so she turns and leans once more on the counter, tutting and shaking her head and hissing and muttering audibly on and on how “she’s being awfully rude. Terribly rude. Sure there’s no need for that kind of thing!”

Already half asleep, my mind drifts into a waking dream, as I recognise the unwelcome return of Ann D’Another Thing.

I first encountered Ann when I lived out in West Connemara in the early 1990s. After a mere two years in Ireland, I was eager to learn more about the people lurking behind the dark windows of my neighbours’ houses, so I listened to Marian Finucane’s Afternoon Call, the radio show that spawned Joe Duffy’s Liveline.

For more, read this week’s Galway City Tribune.