Trapped in the Square

"Could you spare a moment of your time?"

Blimey O'Reilly, I awoke this morning from a night horror I will not want to revisit any time soon, it's mid afternoon and the hands still quake at the thought of it.

What happened was I was in the square in Dungarvan visiting the Farmer's Market for a bit of this and that, when I realised that at each corner of said square was a different group of individuals who I just knew would pounce if you passed within fifty yards of them, even desperately trying not to establish eye contact would be a forlorn tactic. I was trapped holding nothing but a pound of carrots and a mackerel as my weapons. I suddenly realised that overpriced cappuccino I passed on could have come in handy. 

On the Mary Street exit were the "Concernites" busily waving their clip boards and looking hungry for commission, had they already marked me for an approach, rapidly hatching a plan to extract my bank account details by any means necessary, like an angry dentist? I therefore looked to Main Street where a dubious pair of buskers combined to produce what can only be described as a calamity of noise as a mechanical monkey in a box gyrated in the manner of a non too sober fella as he tries to stand up straight when looking for another brew. No good, a surreal, ear deafining exit.

So I turned to O'Connell Street, a calmer scene, "Free Bible Lessons Here", suspicious! A respectable looking lady sat alone in a chair, or was she, a couple of similar types hovered around her quietly every now and again passing a comment or nodding, snakes in the grass, I thought, lying in wait pouncing suddenly giving you no chance of escape. Bridge street? Oh Mother of Devine, THE POLITICIANS, aaaarrrrghh, this was a like a round up, and I was in this moment, the cattle. Images of attacks on wagon trains from the wild west appeared in my mind, and the candidates began to do a rain dance in my direction, this is a dream remember, though saying that a rain dance could be a nice analogy of what the TD's of this country have been doing recently. The Dail full of Little Big Men doing things arseways back to front.

I felt claustrophobic, the square was closing in, leaving by the exit to to the shopping centre would embroil me in impulse buying, a weakness of mine, and I made a conscious decision to avoid (impressive whilst asleep) so my only option was Crossbridge Street where the Army were guarding the van distributing our spondoolies to the "noble" banks of the town. The monkey was at my back as it were, and I ran, frantically throwing the carrots behind me.

"Drop the mackerel!" came the cry from the Colonel as an itchy fingered newbie took his aim.

I obeyed the order and successfully made it passed the "blockade" and took a deep breath......... strolled into Paddy Powers and lost a fortune! Nightmare!

Choices are many and we can all too often have them pushed on us, hurrying us into the wrong decision. It's nearly getting to the stage that the fictional trolls that who, if you paid, would grant you free passage over their bridge could make a come back at busy junctions. 50 cents and no one will bother you, sounds like a deal to me! Or could it be just another tax to come?