Quare good times, hey!
Friday night and all was well. To be honest all was dull. We were fully booked the rest of the weekend. Not that I cared as I was off Saturday and Sunday and thus missed the highlighted hair and polished teeth of the Rod Stewart crowd. But Friday was quiet. Waiter Chum Number 1.5 had slipped off home leaving me and Waiter Chum the Student. She read Closer magazine and I obsessively checked my emails. These were not good times, despite her pointing out the stories contained in her trash mag. There was the silly lady who regrets drinking vodka through her eye and the woman with seven kids who gets £30, 000 in benefits and wants more kids.
In fact these were the polar opposite of good times. The boredom was sapping what little joy I had and bringing me out in a terrible case of the grumps. But then people arrived and all was good again as we went from 0 to 60, 48 actually but you know what I mean, in about fifteen minutes.
Our last reservation of the evening was late, obviously. Three out the five had arrived but rather than take their table like good little punters they decided to wait in the bar and have a little drink whilst waiting on their missing chums. Now whilst managers love this whole, "have a drink in the bar" waitfest I very much rail against this unnecessary staging process. You can have a drink at the fucking table whilst perusing the menu eh. Anyhoo after fifteen minutes of waiting for them to take their table I went for a little wander into the bar, just to see where we were at with the whole missing chums situation.
"Ah Jaysus I don't know where they're at", says the tall chap looking at his watch as if it had the answer. I was well aware of what the time was.
"Ok, well just to let you know the restaurant's last orders are in fifteen minutes", they weren't but you know, whatever. All three of them took to staring at their watches. That's right bitches, fifteen minutes. All restaurants do last orders at five past nine, heh.
"Awh now, they'll be here soon. We'll get another drink and be in just as soon as they get here."
This was very unsatisfactory. But what could I do?!
I'll tell you what I could do, go back to the bar ten minutes later with my, "you've got two minutes to order or the whole place is gonna blow" face on and tell them they have to shift, now. And they did. This really didn't move things any further as their chums still hadn't arrived. Meh!
As it was the table turned out to be pretty sweet. Pleasant folk if a little country, I mean a little country as in farmer folk and not Belgium. They were big people with big appetites, healthy red faces (and necks) and honest laughs. Apart from being a half hour late my only other gripe with them was their over use of the word, "quare."
Everything was quare.
Hand them a drink, "thon's a quare pint right there." Set down the vegetables, "Man those is some quare vegetables." Bring them a jug of water instead of a glass, "Thon's a quare big glass hey." And on it went.
Now I had them down as good Sunday got to church types. The three chaps were clearly wearing clothes bought for them by their mothers/girlfriends fiances and they only had two rounds of beer before they all switched to cokes. And their chat was simple and full of stories about cars and building houses and cows and Uncle Wesley's recent operation. But I was wrong. I was clearing their mains away as the tall and most, "saved" looking of the group regaled his chums with a story of mirth and merriment and cows that nearly knocked me off my tiny feet.
"Oh aye, I was hammered hey. I got back from Enniskillen at about five. I went straight to the parlour, in my good suit mind - the wan me ma got me fer our Tracy's wedding, and starting milking. I was out of my mind hey. Some pills them boys hey."
Pills? Drugs? Cows? How udderly disgraceful.
They're a rum lot country folk. I want to see the government's, "don't drink/do drugs and milk adverts" heh. Sad cows with their faces distorted to protect their identities telling us about the pain of living with an addict milk maid.
Quare good times, hey!
I never realised that anyone outside of Wexford used the word ‘quare’. Country people are just weird!
Dawn they are odd and wrong….and loud and chew mostly with their mouths open…like cows…heh
A particular favourite of mine is ‘thon blade wud get a quare hoaking’ meaning ‘my, what an attractive young lady’.
shouldn’t be allowed off the farm…ever
Your very hard on the cuntry wans. Whered you think the meat and tatties come from hey?
Hard on country wans and the causes of country wans
mushrooms grow quite nicely in cow poop.
Thank you Daisy…that was…eh….illuminating…
thank goodness for the urban dictionary, sugar! xoxoxo
Heh….I forget sometimes Savannah….
Quare? But what does it mean? I tried to figure it out on my own first, I promise!
It’s a country word used before every other word to express excitement at the size of something….who really knows? Country people? odd…
quare…never ever heard that before
Best to forget you ever heard it…
Takes a special type of person to be playing with a cow’s tits while whacked off their face at 5 in the morning.
Country folk are special….seriously
Oh, more cream in your coffee?
boke….
I always thought quare came from ‘queer’ (as in unusual) being conjoined with ‘rare’ (like ‘The Rare old Mountain Dew’). But who knows what goes on in the mind of a culchie.
Reminds me that there was some aul boyo on Total Wipeout (classy telly, I know) who was going to spend the £10 grand he ultimately failed to win on a new bull and an engagement ring for the girlfriend…
Bless all their dung-flecked cotton socks.
how…how…how frightening…
Daisyfae I did not want to know that, heh heh heh. And as for the farmer, I now know why they call the feeling of being under the influence of drugs as “off yer tits”
boom boom!
“Takes a special type of person to be playing with a cow’s tits while whacked off their face at 5 in the morning.”
@not twitter: or anyone in Swansea on a Friday night.
Quare’s not made it over the water fortunately but we do have a WHOLE LANGUAGE dedicated to those lovely, hard-done-by, residents of Llansixfinger!
very fooking special…!
*sheepish*
*mortified*
*please gawd make them stop*
speak to them…convene a meeting…tell them if they don’t stop it their passports will be withdrawn…seriously
Quare may be over used but our country cousins have some great turn of phrase. My Granny (country out) used to say of Liberace ‘Yon lad doesn’t know if he’s a shake dry or a drip dry’
Thanks for the image Gran….
Grans eh…lovely people….!