K8 the GR8

Did you hear about the Bray Summerfest Airshow today?

Did you hear about the big planes swooping low over the rooftops and the pretty fighter jets doing loop-de-loops in the clear blue sky and the army with their big trucks and tanks and uniformed men? I bet if you did, you thought ‘Let’s get our asses down there, quick!’ or, ‘Awww, innit a shame we can’t go to see all that great stuff?’ because it all sounded so great, but in reality, it wasn’t.

In reality it sucked.

I started my shift in Bray at lunchtime and drove in first gear to the seafront to see what I could see. Everybody I passed was staring up into the sky like morons - but not me, I kept my eyes on the road and battled onwards and Lo! Just as I was approaching my target I got called upon to pick up Mrs. Boring from Stupidville, without seeing diddly-squat.

When I was finished with Mrs. Boring from Stupidville I got sent up to the Ritz (in best behaviour mode though I can’t see why…) for Mr. Bad-Timing and had to drive all the way out to the airport and back.

When I returned, Bray was one big massive car-park. Cars were everywhere… parked on top of each other, under sleeping dogs, one or two were even parked in little old ladies’ handbags. It was mental. The gardee were everywhere, waving traffic back and forth and making rude gestures at passers by (I gotta say though, they seriously did an excellent job of clearing away every last smear of traffic sludge) so taxi-fares suddenly became extremely awqward.

Throngs of people kept hurling themselves at my car and jumping in regardless of existing passengers and shouting ‘TAKE ME TO THE SEAFRONT PRONTO!!!’, at which point I would take out my BB gun and ask them to make my day and they would slowly get out again.

I was then sent to Tescos to collect two people who had been waiting for over an hour for a cab.  A gentleman and his ladyfriend loaded up their groceries and jumped into the back seat.

“Didya see the airshow?!” the gentleman said excitedly - “It was deadly, wasn’t it?!”

“No I had to go to the airport.” I was grumpy. Very grumpy.

“They had this huuuge carrier jet and it swooped right down over our heads and it was deadly!!!!”

“So you said.”

“Do you not like ‘planes?” He was dissapointed at my lack of enthusiasm.

“I bloody love ‘planes, so can you shut up about it now?”

“Right, subject changed. Did ya see the big army tank?!”

“NO!!!!!”

45 minutes later thanks to aforementioned sludge, we arrived at his house and the meter read €27.40. This was a tad cruel seeing we had only travelled the length of a football field, so I waived it and charged him a tenner instead.

“Wow, that’s really kind of you, thanks!” the gentleman’s missus said. Then, as an afterthought as she was leaving the car she added;

“Sorry your job sucks. You should try to arrange to get time off next year!”

Yeah. Some tip. Thanks wench.