St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day seems to me to be less and less about celebrating the man who drove the snakes out of Ireland and more about people getting horrendously drunk in whiskey and Guinness.

Considering the excessive consumption of whiskey that I engage in, I'm not really in a position to comment on anyone getting drunk. Especially not when you consider the number of times that Fred has shown up at my place and found me passed out on the floor and had to put me to bed.

What I object to is the stereotype that seems to be cast on the Irish because of how people celebrate St. Patrick's Day, and not only that but the number of people who decide to tell the world that they are Irish because they have an ancestor fifty seven generations back who once visited Ireland for thirty one seconds.

Joe always puts on a bit of an Irish theme for St. Patrick's Day mainly because it's one of the biggest days of the year in terms of increasing his profit. I can't really fault him or other public house keepers or bar owners taking advantage of people wanting to get ridiculously drunk. They operate a business that exploits people's desire to drink like I exploit people's fears and paranoia.

If I want to go and drink at Joe's Place then I have to go early on in the day before most people start drinking - if it's a Saturday or a Sunday then I tend not to go anywhere near the place since people seem to be in there from the moment the doors open in force.

But luckily enough this year St. Patrick's Day fell on a Monday. This not only meant that most people were at work and the place was quiet, but I got to start off my week by spending most of my day in the pub.

Now there will be those amongst you that don't understand what the draw of spending all day in the pub is. Why on earth would someone want to spend so much time around alcohol with dim lighting and old decoration?

To those people I have said and will continue to say "Shut up, Fred." Yes, of all the people in the world to question my motivation for spending all day in the pub, Fred is always the first. Harry seems to understand it and well more often than not has a day off on St. Patrick's Day so is in the pub with me.

Harry says its jealousy but honestly, I think it's more because Fred doesn't like me drinking.

Now Fred is no teetotaler, he enjoys fine wine, strong spirits and ale like any other man of his class bracket. He doesn't really seem to have any problem with women drinking either. I say this because there is a group of men that seem to think that women need to have their alcohol content intake monitored more than men do. But Fred isn't one of their camp.

What Fred doesn't seem to like is watching me try and drink myself into a early grave. He does like to try and prolong my life for reasons that are completely beyond me. This includes keeping me out of gun battles and trying to get me to stop smoking because it will give me cancer.

Of course he still smokes when he is under pressure or undercover, so on that score he doesn't really have a leg to stand on. He still considers himself a non-smoker because it is only an occasional cigarette he indulges in rather than a consistent habit and he hasn't bought a packet of cigarettes in his life. In fact he only smokes when he is around me - so maybe trying to get me to quit smoking is less about me and more about him.

But even so, his trying to keep me alive extends to me not developing liver disease due to alcohol abuse. He keeps telling me that I should talk to someone about everything that has happened to me, that it would help me to get rid of some of my rage and demons and make my life better.

There possibly is a link between Kevin Metis, my family being murdered and my drinking, but then again I like drinking, I like spending time in the pub with Harry and I like the fact that when I do pass out on the floor of my office, Fred comes along, picks me up, puts me to bed and cradles me in his arms whilst I sleep.

St. Patrick's Day gives me an excuse to enjoy all of that earlier in the day before loud and obnoxious people invade and ruin it with drunken offers of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. 

Tequila

There is something wonderful about tequila.

It is not a drink for everyone, but it does help separate the men from the boys in drinking contests.

I find it very helpful in getting rid of days that I would sooner not remember.

The last time I had tequila I started the evening at Joe's Place and I really don't remember anything until I woke up the next morning on Fred's sofa. At the time I decided that it was a good idea to retrace my steps and find out exactly what had happened.

Fred was not in his place and his bed didn't even look slept in, which made me wonder why on earth I was asleep on the sofa. However the best place to start looking for answers was going back to where I had started drinking.

Joe was less than happy to see me, it has to be said, in fact he leveled his shotgun at me and even threatened me! I was pretty certain that whatever I had done, Joe wasn't going to pull the trigger...after all he knows he can't shoot straight and just how annoyed I get by people firing lead towards my fashionable coordinated leather ensemble.

I did explain this to him though, just in case he had forgotten all of that. The explosion from the end of the shotgun that went wide and bit into the floor of the bar told me that I even if I knew what he should have done, he wasn't really in a good enough mood to remember that or be reasonable.

So I may have been forced to use violence to coerce information out of him. Well the threat of violence was more than enough to loosen his tongue. Apparently I had gone through three bottles of tequila, shot four people and Joe had called for Fred. When Fred had arrived I had told Joe that I was going to kill him for it...which explains his reaction to me turning up.

It turns out that I tried to punch Fred in the face when he told me he was taking me home, missed and went careening out of the bar door. Joe said he didn't know what happened after that, other than Fred chasing after me and what sounded like some colliding with a metal dumpster.

I went out to check for any evidence outside - like a blood trail, or perhaps Fred lying face down on the floor sleeping off a concussion. Sadly there was nothing. This was the moment that Harry graced the scene. He pulled up in his ridiculously flashy DBS Volante (I really don't know how he affords some of us stuff on his police salary), got out of his car, and threw his long coat over his shoulder - striding over trying to look cool. It's very hard not to laugh at people who are trying far too hard, so I didn't try to hold back. Admittedly rolling around on the floor unable to breathe due to laughing too much might have been going too far, but hell I didn't care.

Harry didn't say a word, but picked me up (I was still laughing), threw me over his shoulder, carried me to his overcompensation mobile and threw me in the passenger seat. He didn't say a word the whole drive and stopped his car outside his building. Fred was sat on the steps whiter than a sheet and shaking.

Turns out Fred had just stepped out to go get breakfast and came back to find me missing, having left behind one of my guns, my shotgun, my coat and my trilby, Fred had assumed I'd been kidnapped - especially as I might have left his apartment door open.

Harry had been woken up by Fred banging on his door and panicking. So Harry had gone out to find me and bring me back - unharmed.

In all fairness to him - Harry did exactly what he told Fred he'd do. Fred on the other hand may have chased me down the street shouting at me and throwing my belongings after me...was a good job the gun wasn't loaded.

Author Note: If you enjoy the blog entries of Nicolette Mace: The Raven Siren then check out the new Siren Wiki, the kickstarter project. Books of the adventures of Siren are available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, iBooks, Sony, Kobo, Diesel and many more.