he's from a rough area where the men are men and the women are nervous.
when he goes home he loves to go back to his old stomping ground.
there's an atmosphere about the place that he enjoys more than anything else.
a pub he knew very well back in the day is still standing and still full of the old time hard men.
the atmosphere is rough and tough and the patter is not for the feint of heart.
off he went one afternoon for a wee visit.
he ordered a pint and sitting down looked around before opening his newspaper and settling in for a couple of hours.
there were some real characters in that afternoon.
the craic was good.
across the room was a wee fella with an ugly mug.
his face had a fixed grimace and he sneered out of the side of his mouth.
one eye was either missing, or permanently shut.
he never took his other eye off our friend.
the hairy eye.
the stink eye.
there's nothing more disconcerting.
every time he looked up the wee fella was still staring.
after a couple of pints our pal had had enough.
this wee man's really making me angry, he thought to himself.
i've stared back at him several times and he's never once looked away.
if i don't say anything he's going to think i'm a wimp and he won't give it up.
so he summoned up some dutch courage.
and tried to recall how he'd have handled this situation in his younger days.
another pint of beer and he was on his feet and across the room to see the wee man with the staring problem.
reverting to the old vernacular he leaned in.
'look pal.' he started 'whit is ye're effing problem? ye've been staring at me all efternoon. whit the f**k are ye lookin' at?'
the wee fella never flinched.
then his hairy eye looked up and over our pal's head.
and he pointed.
at the TV across the room.
'ah'm watchin' the horse racin' pal.' he said.
'oh aye, that's alright then.' said our friend, as he stuck his newspaper under his arm and quietly left.