Cod Almighty | Diary

That never-ending story

7 August 2018

Wicklow Diary writes: Once upon a time, a town hall needed some improvements. The mayor of the town engaged the services of an experienced builder. Unfortunately, the builder did a very poor job. So poor that the town hall almost had to be condemned. Walls, roof, electrics, central midfield – the experienced builder botched the lot.

What could the mayor do? He had very little money and an unsafe town hall which was about to collapse. The townsfolk were very cross. In desperation, the mayor asked for help from Mike, a youngster passing through the town to try the fish and chips. Mike once had a summer job working on log cabins in the Nordics. This didn't seem to be of much use to the mayor's cause but, as we know, he was desperate.

Mike donned a nice suit and set to work immediately. It took him a few days to untangle the mess but soon after it became apparent to townsfolk that he was some kind of miracle worker. Not only did he patch the town hall and make it temporarily safe – he gave it a lick of paint that almost made it look like new.

The townsfolk rejoiced and not just about the quality of the work. Mike was a very nice guy, too. He went round the town helping people and speaking to them in a way the Yorkie twat who built the bridge to neighbouring Shrewton never did. Nor the cantankerous old git that rebuilt the entire town single-handledly after the meteor strike in 1987 and again in 1998 after another, slightly smaller, meteor strike.

In his travels around the town, Mike made it clear that completing the renovation of the town hall was a big job. Getting one as nice as nearby Kingston upon Ull or Plucky-by-Scunny would take time. Few seemed to listen. They were heard to sing "championes" in the streets and seen at ye olde Ladbrokes placing bets on having the best town hall. Worse, they planned a huge party at the town hall for the August fair, even though the judges weren't passing though the town until the following May.

When they got there, Mike was busy. He'd only just starting rewiring the electrics. Moving from building regulation 442 to 352 isn't something you can do overnight. It's a tricky job whichsometimes doesn't work at all, forcing you to go back to 442. Some of the townsfolk were thick as pigshit though, and couldn't understand this. Never leaving home without pitchforks and torches, they quickly turned a party into a mob. Poor Mike. He had done everything asked of him and more. Were miracles not enough for these idiots? He dropped his tools and ran. The mob gave chase and congratulated themselves as Mike left town over the Shrewton bridge.

Once upon a time, a town hall needed some improvements. The mayor of the town engaged the services of... (continued for 140 more years)