For the context to this piece take a look at my post ‘A piece of home‘.
Whit a ridiculous stramash! Two big eejits waving willies at each other across the water. All because one built his ‘driveway’ a bit far ower. Thank the heavens for Oonagh is all I can say. Although I did think her scheme was a bit OTT at points and she was a teensy bit smug in the telling. Still the faeries gied her the idea – no, the inspiration – she said. I wisnae quite followin her by then. Something about threads and her harp and the cat. She’d phoned to see if Ben wis alright. Efter his ‘tumble on the hill’ – she’d put it like that. I told her he wis in his bed, but aye, alright. Didnae tell her about his deep, black mood that gied me the fear. No for masel’ but him. He’s still never come out these past four days syne Oonagh called. She meant well and don’t get me wrong, I’m awfie glad she sortit it like she did, but she was gye pleased with hersel’ and I think she forgot a few times it was me she wis speaking to. That Finn is a big bairn – ha! No pun intended – the man’s a great lump of dough. Strong and affable sure enough, handy too, but about two waxes short of a full moon in my view. My Benandonner’s the better on that front if you ask me but, oh, his temper. It’ll be the death of him. Well, it nearly was….six broken teeth, a smashed finger, bruised all over from the fall doon the brae, and a wounded pride that’ll last a lifetime nae doot.
They’re already crowin’ about it over there. Facts be damned as usual. Although, if I were Oonagh I’d be pretty peeved as well. It’s aw ‘Finn McCool this’, ‘Finn McCool that’. Hardly a mention of her who put it all together (with a wee bit of help mind from those faery fowk or whitever). Ben needed takin’ doon a peg or two. I’ll be the first to say that. But they takd him doon then flang him oan the flair and kicked him under the bloody table! Ever since he heard tell o’ Finn he was spoiling for a fight wi’ him. That’s all he wantit at first. Mair o’ a contest really. Get the lads out to watch, maybe a wee wager. Fishing rights or a wee bit Fianna gold. But when Finn’s causeway came near all the way to ours without so much as a by your leave or a friendly chat, he wis getting riled. Then the nyaff pretended not to even be himself – too feart when he saw the size o’ Benandonner if you ask me. Well, that’s no’ a man of honour. Then to top it aff, he runs home and hides when Ben went tae see him. Let his wife dae it aw. She led Ben a merry dance tae. Turnin the flamin’ house fir a start. By then he wis right ragin’. He’s no said in sae many wirds but ahve heard enough tae work it oot.
I suppose it is a kind o’ sense to leave the tricksy stuff to someone wiser. I’ll gie Finn that. Seems to me between his granny and his wife he’s been well lookt efter. But he taks all the credit. Ach, makes me think maybe there’s something mair ah should a done for Benandonner. Now he’s aw broken teeth, sair finger, and woundit pride. Not to mention he wis soppin’ wet when he came back after the dook he got when they rolled him doon that blastit hill. He’ll no’ be oot abroad again in a hurry. Nae doot they’ll say he’s gone for guid. At least it put paid to their causeway nonsense. They’re away onto the nixt notion now.
Ahve already heard they’re writing tales o’ Finn and his ‘wise wife’ (she’ll be lucky if anyone remembers her name in a few years but!) Sun on their faces and wind at their backs, aye right – lucky them. I’d be turnin’ in circles aw day if I needed to keep the wind at ma back! And as for aye haein the sun on yer face? No in these pairts, ah’ll tell ye that fir free!
August 2021
Hilary Coyne 