The Irish Snowball

Snowball

I was remembering the other day an old friend from my previous life (and my previous marriage) who I had met through horse riding.  We got on very well and had a lot of great times together at parties and camping holidays.  But this story is not all about her, it's about her boyfriend.

We called him Irish John (though that's not his real name) because he said he was Irish.  His girlfriend Kim (not her real name either) said he was Irish too.  This is what he told her when he chatted her up, he had an Irish accent, and that's what she believed.  That's what we all believed when we met him and everyone he met from then on believed he was Irish.

He was not.

He only took on jobs that paid in cash as he implied that he couldn't get a tax file number as he was in Australia because he was hiding from the IRA. Apparently he didn't do something he was asked to do.  Of course we had doubts about the IRA story but we thought it was just Irish John being Irish John.  He was always funny, charming and unfortunately way too friendly with the girls.  But we all knew he was harmless.

We spent every weekend over five years with Irish John and Kim, horse riding, camping, partying and generally having a great time (it was our 20's after all).  He even met another friend of ours who was Irish who mentioned he didn't quite trust him and thought his Irish accent was suspect.

They moved in together and got engaged.  Kim started working nights at the local club and Irish John would go out all night and she would have no idea where he was.  Sometimes he would turn up at our place and drink all night.  He started playing footy and training a couple of nights a week.  They started fighting more and more but I didn't interfere, I was having my own domestic problems.

Then one night he was seen with a girl at footy training in the back of Kim's car he had borrowed (of course he didn't have his own car, or even his own licence!).  The witness was one of our mates from horse riding, so of course he told his wife who told me.  But they all thought it was best we shouldn't tell Kim.  I didn't agree.  I thought if I was in her place I would not want to be kept in the dark.

So I told her.

It was one of the hardest things I've had to do and I knew there was a chance she might shoot the messenger.  Well she didn't at first but our friendship was never the same again.

They split up but he begged to her to let him back and promised he would change.  She wanted to know why he had so many secrets about his past and why couldn't she meet his family (he said his mother was now living in Australia).  So Kim looked his Mum up who happened to live 10 minutes away.  She went to see her and found out far more than she bargained for.

'Irish' John was born and bred in Tempe, in fact had never left the country.  He had no connections to Ireland whatsoever. It was just one big lie that had snowballed from an attempt to charm a girl in a pub.

It's been over 15 years now and I don't know what happened to Not-Irish John.  Kim went on with her life and got married and had children and is hopefully blissfully happy.  Even though we haven't kept in touch I don't regret telling her how she was deceived, that's what friends do.

[I started this story as a poem, but I'm waaaayyyy out of practice with rhyme - as you can see - and Mr Moneymaker said the story was too good not to tell in full.  So if you'd like to comment, please be gentle with my very badly written prose!  I also changed her name again so it would kinda rhyme.]

There was once a young woman called Bree,
Who loved to ride her horse through the trees.
One night she met a tall lad,
Who was Irish he said
And charmed her to her knees.

For many years together they rode,
Mostly happy in sharing the load.
But something seemed greatly amiss,
Troubles couldn't disappear with a kiss.

He drank too much beer
And Bree started to fear
That things did not seem as they appeared.

His past was a mystery,
He had no history,
Bree just wanted to meet his family!

But he told her they were in Ireland,
Where he was wanted and banned.
And that the IRA were somehow a fan.

Then he got busted at the footy in the back of Bree's car
Getting it on with a floosy from the bar.
And her friend let Bree know
He's not as clean as snow
And she threw his diamond ring very far.

He was lying from the start,
He was not Irish, not one part,
He used the accent to pick her up
And it snowballed too long to stop.

Joining up with Jess at SAHM

My Blog Story

I discovered the world of bloggers through a course I did at work two years ago. But I didn't get into my own personal blog until late last year. I needed to reach out to other likeminded people when I found myself without a regular friend to talk to after several changes in my life.

Firstly, we sold our snuggly old house in our snuggly old street where I had several neighbours who became friends and lifelines. Our kids played together in the street and ran through each other's houses, we babysat for each other and we borrowed cans of tomatoes, coconut milk and cloves of garlic. We popped up the shops for each other when we couldn't get away from the kids. We all shared pizzas and wine on our verandah on Saturday afternoons. Nobody knows each other in this street and though I made an attempt there was nothing in common with my new neighbours.

As we moved house, our children also changed schools, one to a new primary and one started high school. That was a whole new circle of mums and dads to get to know and a whole lot of new names that I will never remember (one of my brain deficiencies, forgetting names!). It was even a new soccer team for our son.

On top of all that my best friend moved to Melbourne along with her two children who had grown up with my two like brothers and sisters. It's not the same sitting on the balcony alone with a glass of wine without her and I haven't been out dancing at a pub in ages.

So I spend alot of time on couch with my laptop reading about and commenting on a whole other world of friends and opinions and problems and happenings. I laugh occassionally and feel a little sad for some and there is even the long comfortable silences similar to when my best friend and I just sat and shared a drink without having to say anything. It doesn't compare to the real thing, but blogging will fill in for me until I can catch up with live human beings again. At least I'm not drinking alone.

p.s. the next time will be in 3 weeks when she comes to stay for the school holidays - a house full of kids will definitely see us out on the balcony solving world problems over sav blanc!

Home Alone (except for one happy dog)

I don’t think I have ever spent so long by myself EVER! So it’s only the second night but it’s been a very long day. I think if I was to ever live alone I would go ABSOLUTELY STARK RAVING MAD!!!

My dog is the only thing keeping me sane. Well him and also the TV, the internet and my phone. But if I was left alone in a cave I would have lost it. Well I probably would have starved to death first as I really can’t be bothered cooking when its only me. I had some Thai last night, a lovely pesto pasta for lunch and a beef casserole and mashed potato tonight, all thanks to Norton St. Why dirty that freshly cleaned kitchen when there are so many great cooks in the Inner West? So I might run out of cash before the money maker comes back but I’ll be well fed.

The reason I’m doing as I please (4 hours uninterrupted online!) is that my little Nugget and his Dad are in Canberra at a soccer tournament (his under 10’s team has beaten all 4 opponents so far – my very own miniature Beckham). Also 12 yr old daughter Chicken is visiting our friends in Melbourne.

This time has me realising that I’m really good at telling everybody in the house what to do but I couldn’t even motivate myself to have a shower today – and its so cold!!! If I lived alone I would turn into one big, daggy, smelly mess.

I do start to think of things I can improve around the house though. I even bought and dyed some dining chair covers today! Tomorrow is Chicken’s desk makeover. And I have a lunch date with some old work mates, which is a lifesaver, as I am a social animal.

I’ve discovered my social circle has shrunk somewhat. It’s the result of moving to this lovely new house 6 months ago – my best friend moved to Melbourne, my kids changed schools and I moved away from my lovely neighbours. No more emergency calls for a can of tomatoes, no more impromptu vino’s on the front verandah, no more community babysitting.

The neighbours here are not my people. One side is a middle aged bachelor with a cab driver for a boarder, the other side is a middle aged couple who are – well – strange. They’re perfectly nice but we have nothing in common – they DON’T DRINK! Horrors! They’re Hillsongers and she gardens in an apron.

Am I being too fussy? No! Where’s my tribe? Why is it so hard to find new friends at 45?

If it wasn’t for the blog world, I would have joined the P&C, a book club and signed up for Italian cooking classes – god forbid!

I guess no social life is saving my liver. As a result of my late mother’s alcohol dependence, I cannot happily drink alone. Some little part of me thinks I will still turn into her, and another little part wants to. So I compromise and only drink after Thursdays, or when visitors come, or when I need cheering up, or if its been a particularly hard day.

But what I really want to do is go out to some comfy pub or buzzy restaurant with friends and talk shit all night. Its not the same on Twitter or Facebook (OK I did end up chatting online to my sister till midnight last night, but there was no alcohol involved, well not on this side of the Blue Mountains anyway). In fact I wouldn’t be so bereft if my sisters lived closer than a half day journey.

How do you make new friends as an adult?